Passing Acquaintance
Out of the corner of my eye,
an ex-colleague from bygone years spotted,
walking in my direction,
one in too many faces
on a busy street now,
in a big office then.
What’s his name?
One of those people you know but don’t know.
I look away, but not before I catch him looking away,
and the flicker of recognition, the little blip of nonplus
on his face, mirroring my own, no doubt.
We are barely 15 feet apart, and closing fast.
Decision.
Stop, greet,
spew pleasantries,
inquire into the health and general well-being
of assorted family members,
talk the small talk,
two men stranded in the middle of the sidewalk
by the rules of civility.
Natter, chatter, patter,
“Have you seen so-and-so lately?”,
“No, not for a while ...”,
invoking random names to hide the paucity
of viable conversational material,
waiting for that natural lull
in the banter to extricate themselves
politely-obviously-eagerly,
finally concluding with the obligatory bald lies
about running late
and catching up over a beer
at an unspecified time in the future.
Or just walk on by,
alibied by the bustle on the street
and a suitably distracted expression.
8 feet, 7, 6, 5, 4 . . .
I keep walking,
eyes resolutely averted,
feigning a sudden haste,
with a slight frown acting
as a Do Not Disturb sign.
He must have made the
same simultaneous decision,
my progress being unchecked.
Spared by each other through
mute, mutual consent!
A few more strides,
and I’m released
back into the anonymity of the crowd,
my mouth silently whew-shaped
after passing what’s-his-name?
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