Standing roadside on a bustling street,
I spy you from a green car,
Would you much rather be elsewhere?
So unaware of where to go next,
Do you lack my set destination?
To me you are a drifter, a solitary figure.
Drab and grey, the clouds are envious,
Weighed down by shopping and sharp despair,
The rain could not cleanse those blemishes.
How far have you traveled?
Surely further than me.
Smelling of alcoholic beverages,
I would be the same.
Unshaven as a matted grizzly bear,
Windswept eyes of solemn knowing.
Your eyes see through mine and deep down.
I sense your fear of the day, as I do,
And the fleetingness of life.
You are a vision of an aged bull, with the aura of a lost child.
Your story simple, yet complex.
Facades we all hide behind, with delicate fingers over our faces.
Is there a moment you could describe,
As we toast by the fireside,
To relate a kinship with me?
Each passing car leaves you solitary.
And I am one of those.
Faded pants, scattered with filth,
Should I offer a ride, or a story or two?
Will you find my tales relatable or poetic, as I imagine yours?
Your torn shirt, could tell many a tale;
Brambles, thorns, or an ill-mannered occurrence.
Will you cross and will you change?
Your shoes are in need of repair.
Souls meet in the most bizarre ways.
Photo by Me (A. Campbell).
