Regret

His head was bowed as he walked down our street 

This young man in his twenties.

But he walked like an old man

Consciously pacing himself 

One foot after another.

I don’t know where he lived

Or where he might be going, 

But he was there 10am 

Every  Tuesday morning

With out fail.

I began to look for him and as he passed 

My eyes followed him to the corner

Where he turned and disappeared from view.

I often thought of  standing on the corner

To see where he was going

Every Tuesday at 10am.

But I couldn’t, it would be prying,

And I felt sure he would have noticed me.

One Tuesday he didn’t come down our street.

I was sitting by the window

Watching both the clock and the street

Until it chimed  the half hour.

I was curious even concerned ,

As to why after so may months 

 He had  not appeared.

Where had he come from. 

Where was he going.

His absence was disturbing.

I was constantly aware that he was missing.

If only he would come back, 

I would stand at the door 

And  try to raise a smile from him

By  calling out “Good morning.”

But he never did return.

Val Cook Sept 2011