I saw Bill yesterday when I got off the train
Bill who played the piano for our pantos
He didn’t see me there, at the foot of the steps
It was rush hour and I said ‘Bill,’
‘Yes, hello, how’s your husband? and your daughter?’ he said, without turning
He was folding his stick down to the size of a ruler, tucking it into a pouch attached to his belt,
‘I bought this pouch after the last time,’ he said.
He meant a year ago, when I saw Bill
sitting on the bench in the station, stuck waiting
someone had nicked his stick so I walked him home.
‘You’re holding everyone up,’ said a woman.
We were standing there, at the foot of the steps, but
Bill stayed cool, he’s from the Bronx, he plays the piano