"Hey, I look pretty good"
he turned away
and in his wake I asked
she whispered, "he has cancer"
I rounded the corner
there he stood perusing the olive oils
"She told me," I said.
He cocked his head.
the story rolled off his tongue
we are in a pocket of rare cancers
"I've got death perched on my shoulder...
I used to do yoga, now I live it!"
I know grief roiled over my face
he lost a moment to great sadness
we stood there, two souls, pondering our
transitory passage on this planet
I snuck into the office and cried
my tears hurt my eyes