Walking into myself
Stepping out on the street this morning,
came upon a silver-bearded hat wearer
coming towards me evenly like I was walking
into an outside mirror. Before we thwacked
into each other, he stopped. Gary, he said,
extending his arm. Bill. And we turned
together, me walking his way, out of the mirror.
He had seventeen years on me it turned out
but our strides pretty near matched. How long?
Nearly ten years now I said. Forty myself,
he countered. Charlber Lane. Just like
the steady ups and downs on Goldmans Road.
Parting on the return leg where my
driveway shears off, Gary arced on
back into the road mirror and
marched out of vision.
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