Cruising Along Carroll Avenue

Going to get a haircut,
Cruising along,
Carroll Avenue,
Terrific weather,
A morning of reading,
And exercise,
Now this,
About to walk in,
And then he sees 1,
Not far away,
2 is there too,
But she doesn’t notice anything,
He doesn’t know if he and 1,
Make eye contact,
Or not,
But clearly,
They saw him,
Saw him,
He can’t remember,
How long,
It’s been,
But it’s certainly,
Been a while,
Of course,
These sorts,
Of things,
Are bound,
To happen,
In small communities,
And this community,
Is indeed,
He’s going,
To run into,
From a past life,
Or past lives,
And there’s nothing,
To do,
Or say,
Even though,
There still is,
A part of him,
That loves,
The two,
Of them,
Those munchkins,
That touched,
His heart,
In a way,
No two people,
Ever have,
But it’s that tenderness,
That tenderness,
That feels somewhat,
Stale and abstract,
Compared to,
The way,
It felt,
Two years,
Or even,
Six months,
That quiet tenderness,
Or perhaps dormant tenderness,
That’s lost its freshness,
It’s still something,
That matters,
He thinks,
And it’s that affection,
However remote,
Or lacking,
In freshness,
Or whatever else,
Those feelings,
From a past life,
Colliding with his present,
That make him,
Feel sure,
That the best thing,
To do,
Is to stay,
And so,
He turns right,
And takes,
A seat,
On the couch,
He’s ten minutes,
Plenty of time,
To return briefly,
To the weekend edition,
Of the FT.

Words of Gratitude

I really appreciate,
Your helping,
With him,
The gaslighters,
Really are,
The worst,
I’ll take things,
From here.

On Writing

He’s not going,
To claim,
That writing,
Is some kind of,
To salvation,
But there are times,
When he’s close,
To believing that,
And it’s those moments,
That keep him,
Coming back.