A Morning of Meetings and Lendings

He struggled

dragging two suitcases along my 
        morning path.

One was too bulky;

both were too heavy,

with wheels too small to ease his burden

        over uneven sidewalk,

        summer construction,

        and morning-damp grass.

“I go Intensive English,” he answered,

which, as I had guessed, lay on my route.

Though I am much the bigger

and likely much the stronger,

I am also much the older,

so I chose not to embarrass him
        with excess favor.

I offered to take a bag

and took the smaller into tow,

giving him little chance 
        to protest or accept—

which both he did quite graciously.

Across one hundred meters

we shared words enough to know 
        that we had met.

I stood his bag by familiar door.

Then, as we shared a handshake

and stood face-to-face for the first time,

I saw that we had met before—

that we had met and met again

in my struggle across strange terrain

where I had lent and lent again

the “thank you”
        that now came back to me.

This morning,

as I met a new friend whom I may 
        never see again,
I met an old friend from when.

A Morning of Meetings and Lendings

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 1999 :: A Morning of Meetings and Lendings :: ,9904