The Guy with the Cigarette

I sat on a park bench, reading
traffic rumbled by like angry bears.
Across the street, across the road
outside a coffee shop, a young man stood.

A man of little wealth but rich in contentment
he stood rolling up tobacco into a cigarette
from his pocket he took a lighter, sparked it
then began to inhale the smoke.

I was distracted by him.
I had a strange urge to go over and say something,
but what could I possibly ask him?

I watched his movements.
The cigarette meet his lips
his chest rising and falling like the tide,
thick clouds of smoke drifting away.

He leaned against the wall
and rested his foot on it.
I thought he looked cool
standing like that with his cigarette.

There seemed nothing arrogant about him though.
He just wanted a smoke, that’s all.

As he did, he looked around.
Up and down the streets, at cars, people…
…and then at me.

My gaze was locked on his,
and his on mine.

He took one last drag of his cigarette,
threw it to the ground
and began to cross the road in my direction.

“Oh my God…” I thought.

When he stood on my side of the street,
my side of the road, he said,

“You wanna’ grab a coffee with me?”