For Billy Collins

Every year in September
The same small item appears
Lost
Among its more important neighbors.

Occupying its tiny plot,
Buried well back,
It always reads,
“Flooding in Bangladesh --
Hundreds Swept Out to Sea.”

It never changes.
It is, in fact, the same story
Like the file footage
Of grocery store aisles
Broadcast after minor earthquakes,

Except the losses are human lives
Not jelly jars and cans of Coke.