I Saw Him Yesterday

Last month he was sitting alone at a bus stop
his shoulders hunched forward, he seemed
deep in thought. He got on the bus
but I couldn't get his attention.
I saw him through the open window and called
out his name as loud as I could
he stared straight ahead and didn’t turn his head.

I saw him again yesterday riding his bike
along the highway, his leg muscles firm,
his skin brown and smooth,
I knew it was him when he smiled.
He sped on by and didn’t wave
I’m glad I had a chance
to see him anyway.

That’s his shirt flapping on the fence post
his chest is bare and his back glistens.
He holds the ax up high,
his biceps ripple when he brings it down
to split the log he is chopping.

I walk towards him and start to speak
but he doesn’t know me. He looks like my brother
but he isn't. Jess died at forty-four, still in his prime.
I see him all the time but he doesn’t see me.

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January 13th. was his birthday... this poem is written in
his memory.