Just by Chance

Staring into faded bricks,

glare of cheap hotels,

I ache for the smell of my own pillow.

Pack quickly, leave an hour early.

Waiting in a coffee shop

for the airport bus,

the rain begins.

Edging toward an empty table

a frail grey-haired woman

shrinks from the scowl of the waitress,

starts to leave.

“Sit with me,” I offer,

feeling lonely for both of us.

We talk of weather, of cities.

I give her my well-worn map.

She hands me a card,

a man’s name crossed out

hers penciled in.

“If you ever come to Miami

you can stay with me.

If I still have the house,” she adds.

Suddenly she pulls away,

pays her check, hurries out.

“Be careful of the wet streets,” I call.

Finishing my coffee, I leave for home.