What do they see
What do they see
When I walk by
The old man or me
The stranger who strides
With little purpose
No real destination in mind
No shared history
Where does he go, they wonder,
In such a hurry
When at his age
He will have so little to occupy his time
Fulfil his day.
The smile on the face of the Barista
Is a genuine one
There is a question in it
How are you today sir
But I always answer
With a question of my own
To which she replies
That she is doing fine
All is good this morning
The lady with the Fox Terrier,
Which always jumps up at people,
Leaping for the throat
Barking like an irate goat
On the end of a rope
When the best grass, the greenest leaves
Are just out of reach,
Looks on in horror
As if this had never happened before,
She believes that her dog is always adorable,
Even after cocking a leg
Against the table
It is only what dogs do after all,
She looks disappointed when I do not sit
But take a seat with the book lady
Who reads in earnest
Thumbing through books she has picked up
In a thrift store
Well read, we have conversations
About Ukraine
It is where her parents were born
She worries about the outcome
But can’t tear herself away from the news
We share similar views
Apparently, we have a fanbase
Our conversations are interesting
I guess we both care about the world
And believe in community
Some might call it socialist
Others would call it empathy
Although empathy can be a double-edged sword
In the wrong hands,
Empathising with one side
Can be interpreted as being opposed to the other
So perhaps ‘compassionate’ is a thing to be
Me for you and you for me
Try that hat on for size
On an international scale
Perhaps then, the world would be a little kinder
But I digress
That suggests
I have a purpose
What next I wonder
Joining a book club
Or sitting down to convert
The inconvertible
Who believe in demons and the big lie
Perhaps not
Life is too short
I choose to walk on, listening
To music especially prepared
For headphones
Acid jazz and fusion
With a touch of Doctor John
Who knew?