With Us. A poem by Michael Lane

Early morning, in the park,
We do our small circuits.
The two women with coffee mugs say, ‘hello’;
The elegantly-dressed, blind lady waves her stick,
The guy in full black running gear,
Who sits on the bench, waves his fag,
The hipster wraps up his yoga mat by 7:45,
My friend, from no 34, doing, ‘Couch to 5k’
Points his red face happily to all.
Almost sharing – nearly friends,
Deepening our well-wishing and curiosity,
Each day more settled than the last.

Today, the blind woman wasn’t there.

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