Eleven people

At a desk in an office in a tower
toils an analyst:  Penny.
The work trudges, the money stretches thin,
and her local liquor-store profits.
But her coworkers need her, and that is enough.

On a bench in a park in downtown
sings a busker:  Abi.
The days meld, the guitar-case begs,
and the bartenders do not know him; cirrhosis killed Dad.
But sometimes people smile at him, and that is enough.

In a room in a house in a suburb
strives a mother:  Carrie.
The children tumult, the bills pile,
and the husband smells of whiskey.
But Tessa has a new friend at school, and that is enough.

At a lab in a facility in a desert
concocts a chemist:  Dolly.
The deadlines loom, the yields disappoint,
and the war does not end.
But the men across the sea are evil, and that is enough.

Atop a railing on a bridge over a bay
deliberates a victim:  Ernie.
The vertigo heightens, the instincts grapple,
and the conviction builds.
But a stranger tells him they care — and somehow, that is enough.

In a hut in a village in poverty
wastes a child:  Nellie.
The stomach demands, the fever consumes,
and the medicine costs a month’s wages.
But thankfully her dolls cannot get sick like her, and that is enough.

For a woman from memory of better times
yearns a lover:  Danny.
The songs remind, the perfume lingers,
and the brain limerates.
But the ache fades, slowly, and that is enough.

At an end of a life fully lived
rests an architect:  Suki.
The breath labors, the family gathers,
and the hands shake too much to draft plans anymore.
But she believes in heaven, and that is enough.

For a moment while star-watching on a mountain
panics a nihilist:  Amity.
The sky engulfs, the dissociation threatens,
and the ego stutters.
But her girlfriend loves her, so she forgets the void — and that is enough.

With a rifle in a fervor on the battlefield
fights a soldier:  Archie.
The shells detonate, the bullets pierce,
and the youth litter the ground with their corpses.
But the flag inspires, and that is enough.

From a part of her mind full of fear
writes a poet:  Zoey.
The meter confounds, the words seize up,
and the ending escapes her.