Where Are My Words?

young man

There's a young man walking across the street.

Same time every day,

I watch him walk down the road,

past the stop sign,

not stopping.

I watch him stare at his feet.

Right, left, right again.

I stare at him and wonder if he thinks.

I wonder if he noticed the stop sign.

Did he spot the cars coming?

Did he hear them?

I wonder if he didn't care about the stop sign.

I wonder if he didn't care about being flattened into the pavement.

Why is he walking?

Where to?

Is he escaping something?

Where from?

I wonder if he's lonely.

Does he ever feel me staring?

Does he not care that I am?

He walks and turns left,

and right on my doorstep

stands a man I do not know.

He's hesitant to knock.

I make my way to the door.

When it opens, he stands staring.

He apologizes,

then he's leaving,

gone back the way he came.

And I didn't get the chance to say goodbye.