Eye to Eye

In the city.
In the night.
Surrounded by crowds.
You are somehow
alone.

Not lonely. No.
Never that.
You have purged that demon an age ago.

But alone,
a ghost like  observer
seeing with the eye of God,
without judgement,
but in wonderment

of all these people,
and not one who will look you in the eye.

About this poem. 

I have just come back from a two-day work trip to New York City. I love going to the city, and every time I go my head comes back with new thoughts and new images, too many to process on the train trip back.

One thing I noticed this trip, is that no one would look me in the eye. That’s odd to me. Coming from my little rural community, I have come accustomed to pretty much everyone looking me in the eye, as we pass on the road, in the stores. It’s a normal thing.

But not there. I wonder why.

The only two people who looked me in the eye? Two elderly homeless guys I bought coffee for and had conversation with. Best conversation of the trip.

Tom