Sir Incognito
The tap of your stick
alerts me. You swivel right,
walking with purpose.
*
Dark glasses disguise,
calf-length boots and winter coat.
Protective armour.
*
You look up to find
me, waiting at the window.
We wave, smile and nod.
*
Who and what are you,
my new old friend of five weeks?
You spell out eighty.
*
I mime disbelief.
The years have not compressed you,
your calm dignity.
*
Sir Incognito,
I salute you as I rise
from my writing desk.
*
We both will survive
on unexpected greetings
filling the absence.
*
While my hair grows grey
uncut, you pace the weeks, months.
We both mark time’s tread.
