November 2004  

Rush Hour    © by    Pat Riviere-Seel
 

You’ll always be the man I think I see
standing by the subway tracks
just long enough for me to wonder

could I dash down the stairs, shout
your name, catch you there, before
the doors slide shut. I watched you

wait for me in restaurant bars. I loved
the way you sat, straight and square—
composed like a calm and patient man.

I made bets with myself on just how long
before you spotted me. Near the end
you seemed to sense me there outside

the opened door. We left drinks,
dinners barely touched. Like orchids
we lived on air. Our breath silvered

windows, disappeared like ghosts.
All night we tended our exotic garden,
our own bruised lives suspended

until morning when we left lush rows
of rented sheets, picked our separate ways
blind and betrayed by sundrunk dawn.

Previously published in the North Carolina Poetry Society's
Pinesong: Awards 2004. Used with the poet's permission.
NOTICE: The poem on this page is copyright © by the poet.