Minutiae - The Poems

Minutiae turns its attention to the quiet theatre of the everyday, the small dramas that unfold without notice on sidewalks, in reflections, and at the edge of the ordinary. This is the city’s poetry, small, silent offerings, waiting for those who know when to look.

In each frame, the overlooked becomes something more. Humor lives beside melancholy; absurdity beside grace. Together they form a portrait of human contradiction so that even in our smallest moments, our psyche is revealed.

  • A mannequin sells faceless desire,

    borrowed femininity on legs.

    In a city built to turn your head, she asks:

    are you still paying attention?

    Style, it turns out, is a conversation with

    whoever wanders by.

  • At the edge of the lane, a small assembly forms:

    coffee in hand, lined up in prayer,

    a bus sighing its amen.

    This is a weekday liturgy,

    rituals performed in miniature.

    Communion is simply standing together until

    the light changes.

  • Beneath a spill of bougainvillea,

    two city dwellers cross paths.

    The scene unfolds without ceremony

    a glance, a pause, a step forward.

    For a heartbeat, the ordinary feels like choreography

    a city’s performance when no one’s looking.

  • On a quiet city street, empire and dial tone

    share the same small shrine.

    History promises answers;

    the handset promises options.

    Either way, someone is always on hold.

  • Lined up against a child’s dirty window,

    repeat offenders in the daily disorder.

    Guilty of nothing but being

    exactly where they always are.

    Familiarity is the heart’s alibi.

  • Beauty bar lookout; perfect,

    contained, unblinking.

    Each passerby weighed,

    measured, and found wanting.

    Judgment, it seems, is

    part of the service.

    Meanwhile the city looks away, distracted by

    its own reflection.

  • Woman in the window; the watcher

    and the watched.

    Her stillness registers: it’s only a

    doll though, or nearly close enough.

    We call it display, not confinement.

    Some of us learn early

    how to hold a pose.

  • They gather at dusk, these

    guardians of night.

    Their creed is simple: to

    shine brightly where darkness fears.

    Every family keeps its own order,

    secrets passed like flame to wick,

    blinding to all within its orbit.