“I See You”
It’s okay, Man in the brown tweed jacket.
I’ll not look into your dark eyes
or watch the rain fall into your
salt and pepper hair.
Your feet jump over the running water as
You stride purposefully to your vehicle
at 5:30 p.m., carrying your dark baggage.
But with your slightly hunched shoulders
and hands at your sides poised for a snap,
You return to your workplace with your
magic keycode, empty-handed.
How could we miss this?
You come passing my way again but
Now carrying your neon orange lunch cooler.
I’ll not look into your dark eyes,
Which dare not even look my way
Lest I bear witness to your
momentary lapse of planning.
Let’s not make tomorrow any more difficult
than it need be.
You walk alone to your vehicle,
And others will follow.
But it is you whom I see right now.