POCKET SHRINK

My Gentleman

Despite blasting horns
and the roar of motors
I choose not to run down
the old man crossing
ever so slowly
in front of me.
Over-sized pants
worn jacket
shoes without laces.
But an arresting face
of sharp bones and narrow eyes.
Unfazed by the crazies
he holds his pace
until he reaches the curb
where, in slow motion
he turns and doffs his cap to me.
This graceful gesture from a diffeent time
lifts my spirit
removes me from the rabble of the street

Bridget Harwell