The Reluctant Routinist

Earearby ojo02 Nov 2013

It was 13 & 47 and they weren't there.

The bench played its poker face

And for the first time in the five times I never noticed, 

I notice a bus stop. 

But they never looked like they were waiting.

Folded in ease, too far apart, 

Bound by their space in-between & their routine.

Her legs had never greeted grass in her 80 years on any bench,

Swinging slow time to his smile,

Framing the bench with no view, 

Eyes soft beyond sight.

Words all said.

Long before,

My gaze syncopated against score.

But now with each turn I step back

To the symmetry of an original pulse,

In the dance I draw.

Eyes find & surrender to the invitation of the now known,

As they take my hand 

At the same break 

On the same beat

To Frank & Min, and all the Eddie’s & Ivy’s.

Just as stacked silver coins wait for slippers & dawn papers, 

And teaspoon waits in mug for tea to stir, 

And the cat knows time.