the small and ordinary

a woman walks down the street
the day hot, the day long, 6pm,
and full of rush
and she is tired, and you 
can see her clutch her packets tight
and run a little as if the motion
might lighten the load
does this moment,
brief common pain, endured
and conquered as you enter
your car in a rush
laying the burdens down
mean anything?
is it worthy of a poem?
what is the importance 
of the small and ordinary
in our poetry
amidst the struggles large
and momentous?
what is the weight to the small
amidst the flow
and that battle to stem the tide?