#100Poems: Number14

I parked by the street today —
intent on getting my 10,000 steps.
Or is it 8,000?
It doesn’t matter.
I’m not going to do it anyway.

I let the motor idle with the A/C still running
while a favorite song plays.
My eyes wander over to the man at the bus stop.

He’s old.
Old in that way that reminds me
of weathered sepia-colored prints
from the early 20th century.

His coat is a nondescript brown.
So are his pants.
And he wears a hat. Not a ball cap.
A hat.

He sits patiently. Waiting.
A modern still life in the city.

Suddenly, he reaches down by his feet
where a crack in the sidewalk hosts
a collection of weeds.
He plucks a baby dandelion from the debris,
yellow, and full of life,
and sticks it in his faded lapel.

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#100Poems: Number Nine

“Rain, rain, go away,”
said the little boy.

Harrumph went the old man.
“It’ll just come back another day.”

#100Poems: Number Five

The candle flickered between us
as we ate our dinner in comfortable silence.
At one point, he put his fork down and said,
“Are there two flames in that candle?”

So I stared at it for a moment.

I watched the candle.
He watched me.
Our food got cold.

“Nope. That’s an optical illusion.
The second flame is a reflection on the crystal.
I cleaned it this morning.”

“Oh,” he said, and went back to eating.
“It’s two flames,” he said again.

I smiled and nodded.

“Yes.”