By
chance or design,
should
you walk into
my
view, shaking head
or
fist, strolling leisurely,
stepping
lively at a harried
pace,
smile or frown
spread
across your face,
chances
are, should I not
be
otherwise preoccupied,
I
shall make a note visually,
mentally
and write about
our
brief encounter later,
within
a day or sooner,
I
reckon. Kind of like that
son-of-a-bitch
who gave
me
the middle finger while
I
curiously watched him
as
he passed me by.
That
wasn’t you, was it?
Chris
Hanch 1-12-19
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