Goodbye

Goodbye

The big jowled stranger , hefty and slow moving towards me is

A kindergarten through high school friend

From my past.  Asks, “Carry your poetry to the market? Huh?”

“No. No one else seems interested. Thanks for asking.”

The incongruity of our cloths and cordiality

Is… noticeable. (Or maybe I am class conscious in bright street daylight time. I see a city dwelling falcon on a building like a

gargoyle and I think of WB Yeat's "gyres" of time/ages/my acquaintance in front of me

from way way back.) He kind of fidgits on his feet

waiting for me to say "something".

“You?” I ask.

“I’m still a banker, ya know. Cold hard cash for my thoughts.

That’s what I get.”

He stuck out his soft hand from a tailored dark blue suit cuff, we shook somewhat cordially (even though germ contact avoidance

Is prevalent today causing handshakes to be somewhat archaic.)

“Goodbye,” the friend from my past said.