The old man and I

The wind blew hard,

Cars swooshed past;

Bicycles, people, swayed faster,

And he stared.

As we walked along,

The old man with the bristly hair,

Yellow but fair,

He stared;

At me…?

In shock at first;

Soon he realized,

I was real,

Just very dark,

Darker than him,

And so, he stared.

We walked side by side,

Slow, sometimes fast;

Wrinkling the cold kissed skin,

His neck motioned,

Sideways, sideways,

His eyes squinted open,

The old man,

He,

Pretended not to see me.

But together, we

Snuck looks;

One of wonder,

The other of disbelief,

Is he serious?

Can he be mad?

What is he looking at?

I need to pull up my leggings?

Damn, what is it, he wants?

He just keeps looking…

Once in a while;

He gazes,

Into the distance ahead,

His patched coat from winters gone.

Up, up, he climbs the steps faster;

Only to stop, and look down,

One long hard look,

She backs away, irate!

He sighs, unconvinced,

Scoffs almost,

Holding on to his plastic bag;

Chow mien,

 He mumbles on…

Past the high buildings,

With all the lights beaming,

Onto the muddy streets,

We walked;

His back stooped,

Stealing glances,

In acquaintance now,

Connected.

He now understands a truth,

He knows, he has seen,

This person…

Black but with hair;

Just like his wife’s,

She is not bad looking at all,

In fact…

But just look…

And so he stared

One more time

And to the crowd, she was lost.