Whether it was better to have turned left instead of going ahead
or to have spoken up rather than remain silent
is yet a point debated only in those hours when I lay awake
because of caffeine or stress
and listen to the distant diesel engine of a train
or the burbling emergency siren drift
into my consciousness and then fade away.

I have no answers.
At least no encompassing ones
to explain the events and influences
that have produced who I am at this point
in a life that is without either great accomplishment
or devastating tragedy.

Nothing remarkable
to distinguish a singularity of purpose
or any particular characteristic
deserving of either celebrity
or notoriety.
I simply exist
somewhere in the bell-shaped curve
of the masses of western civilization.

Indistinguishable in a crowd.
Individualistic within bounds.
A person apart only in the minds of the few
whose pursuit of affection have been rewarded
with a friendship somewhere beyond courtesy
but in no sense intimate--save one.