Love God B Kind

I. 

For a few months, 

nearly twice a day, I saw him.

In the mornings, a leather jacket—

In the afternoons, shirtless—

Always the same mustard colored jeans—

tinged with life outdoors.

Always the same wide, toothy grin—

Always the sign attached to his cart—

Love

God B

Kind

On this morning, 

in a post election day funk, 

he was the only hope I saw amongst the faces I passed by.

Each solo driver in the rat race—

Each tired mom pushing a stroller across the intersection—

Each coffee sipper outside the cafes and bakeries—

could not hold the light he did,

regardless of their chosen side.

On this morning, 

his grin wider and more promising than ever,

I threw him a shaka, 

and he waved. 

A shining bodhisattva—

leading the way.

II. 

He’s back—

and I am so grateful.

He’d disappeared from the landscape of my commutes for some time.

I’d wondered if maybe he had finally decided to attain enlightenment and move on. 

His jeans new—a dark blue this time. 

His jacket new—but still black.

The beanie on his head also black and new—the golden hair slipping out from underneath now combed by the grace of some accepted providence. 

Standing with such stoicism on this morning he braced himself against the biting chill and surveyed the cars passing him. In the deepest of contemplation his eyes communed with those that avoided his. 

My eyes searched for every bit of him I could see—and they landed finally upon his cart—

and his cardboard sign—

Love

God B 

Kind

Even when the traffic ahead of me began to flow into the future present, I longed to remain there and be seen. 

My head craning over my shoulder and the lanes of oncoming traffic, 

eyes searching to meet his, 

but it seems he was avoiding me. 

…and so I drove on.