I know him
sitting in the booth
eating a muffin slowly
with knife and fork
but I don’t know
where I know him from.
I caught his eye once
and quick looked down
back to writing this –
does he know me?
Does he want to
give me his tongue?
We can make an afternoon
of this. It reminds me
of a meteor and a planet
nearly missing
or a run red light, skimming
the fender of a van,
when time slows down
just enough to see fear
in the wide white pupils
of a little girl almost dead.
Drink some coffee, wait.
I don’t want to know how
I know him today.
