Others

Those I like

And those 

I don’t 

Not much sense                                               

To it usually

A hat tilted perhaps

Upward a bit

Too much 

An awkward gait

There was once

A tall gangly

Guy ubiquitous

In Milwaukee

I’d see him

Going in and out

Of pharmacies

And bookstores

Sometimes toting

A guitar

Or a handful

Of his mimeographed

Poems about sunlight

Hitting the river

I didn’t like

“the cut of his jib”

I was forced 

To speak to him

Once

And I noticed

I liked him

Years passed fast

Like tides overtaking

A holiday shore

He saved my life

One winter

When I was dying