You're the Walker
On morning walks, I pass by
Certain people every day,
But rarely do we say hello;
It’s not the New York way.
Occasionally, breakthroughs
May result in first a nod,
Then perhaps a wave or “Morning!” shout
Or not, which isn’t odd.
One woman greets me warmly now,
Yet there were many years
When she wouldn’t even catch my eye;
Who knows why she switched gears?
A runner I see frequently
Will give a sideways glance
But won’t take it to the nodding stage
In this strange New York dance.
This afternoon, though, as I strolled
In Sotheby’s,* viewing art,
I spotted a familiar face
And blurted, with a start –
“Hey – you’re the runner!” He turned ‘round
And broke into a smile.
“And you’re the walker!” he replied;
We knew each other’s style.
“We could discuss this further
In the morning, but we move
In the opposite direction;”
(Since we’re in our a.m. groove).
The whole encounter felt like
Just how New York stories go
And the next time when our paths cross
Guaranteed, we’ll say hello.
*the famous auction house
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