Every day, rain or shine, I cross the street by the church and the police station.
I swing one arm but hold the other still in my distinctive, awkward walk.
Some days I walk with my face pinched, a headache whirling inside.
Some days I walk with my face downward, nothing but rain in my heart.
Some days I walk with my face ever changing, happiness tumbling around inside my mind on the dry cycle.
No matter how I find the corner every day, there you are.
You sit in your lawn chair, stop sign to the side and cap on your head.
Your shades are always the same.
I greet you, “Good morning!”
Though I only ever see you in the afternoon.
You ask me about work, and I tell you it was very fine.
Once we chatted briefly about your grandson who was my age.
I love our little conversations, innocent and genuine and sweet.
I love the stretch of the street after that corner by the church and the police station
Along which I cannot walk angry or sad or volatile,
Just content and satisfied that humanity is good,
And life is as real as those shades.
I don't know your name, sir, but you make me feel like I'm more than one of seven billion.
You are a friend in the purest way, every day
By the church and the police station,
Rain or shine.