Downtown, A Bench

for BAB

I should wonder what you're thinking, staring
at these buildings staggered before us.
But instead I recap my life
trying to remember if I've ever seen lips like yours:
pouty and so inviting.

A pigeon pecks the concrete in front of us,
maybe he sees something I don't. Which reminds me,
I often think I am missing some great and obvious thing.
Like love has pounced on my lap like a cat or
I've under-balanced my checkbook and I
just can't see it.

The city is loud. Cars and people
pile up at our feet. I know you feel it
if I do: the separation, no matter how close
they get to us.

If I would ask where you are right now,
you would say, in those buildings, in the pigeon,
in the steaming pavement under traffic. But I know
you wouldn't be telling the whole truth.
Even I can see my reflection in the glass
across the street.

A single page of newspaper floats
across your shoe. You look down.
I should wonder what you're thinking.
Instead I ask the crowds, Have you ever
seen a green-eyed man like this? feeling
proud.

It is all very simple, really. A few waves
of hair tickle your collar, your hand falls
to my knee, and I can see what the pigeon was after.
Was it there the entire time?