When He Leaves by the Door He Entered

Because he never drives his car to the coffee house
he often goes in the back door and out the front.
Everyone will notice this sure sign:

he is pedestrian.

When He Leaves

by the Door He Entered

Bob Komives

He never drives his car to the coffee house

--except today,

first stop on his way to somewhere distant.
Quite justifiable,
not a second thought

--until now.

Having parked behind the coffee house
he opens his car door
and gets hit by an odd wind
that chills him with shiver of fear.
He looks to the coffee-house door.
It too opens
and is likely to produce someone he knows;
someone who thinks him pedestrian;
someone who will express surprise,
vindication,
disappointment.
Too late to hide,
he stands up to the morning sun,
prepares for the worst.
Someone emerges from the farther door's shadow.
Could he be so lucky?
He thinks she is a stranger.
She gives no sign of recognition
as she walks to her car with portable coffee.
She gives only generic smile
and nod of good morning.
After dramatic moment of fortunate anonymity
danger has past;
shiver is gone.
He enters,
safely separated
from the vehicle that would betray him.
He smiles at a thought:

perhaps the stranger too craved anonymity.

As his eyes adjust to interior space
he is ready for faces he wants to see
and for smiles of recognition.
It is time to relax and sip coffee.
With good fortune on his side today
most customers will leave before him,
and, if he is careful,
those who outlast him will fail to notice
when he leaves by the door he entered.  

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 1999 :: When He Leaves by the Door He Entered :: ,9908