And Back
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And Back
By A. A. Parr
For the Man Whose Name I’ll Never Know

I saw you each day, by the bus stop.

You, slumped in your chair, wheeling
forward and back, forward
and back, as though the burdens themselves
of this life were not enough.

You watched me, you seemed surprised
that I watched you back; I suppose
most others tend to avert their eyes and
I still don’t know which you preferred but

each day as I travelled down the road
and back, down the road
and back, it was kind of you
to not
avert your eyes as I passed.


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