Lost

It eludes her.
She does not see it
through the fogged up
grimy windows
of the local cafe.

It is not there in
the scrawny glance
of the speckled teen,
blushing over
his sad prawn sandwich
in its cellophane twist.

She does not find it
in the harsh tones
of the large woman
with the grubby child
- who cries for want of it.

She does not hear it
in the steps of the Priest,
his black shoes
slapping briskly on the
glistening pavement.

It was there once,
in the touch of her lover,
in the words of her confessor,
in the voices of her kin.
Now she is alone,
Old and forgotten.

As she sinks
beneath the surface
of their casual indifference,
she laments the loss of
Kindness to the world.