I passed a man on a bench today

Something, be it mild or more

Had prompted this innocent stop

To sit and think.

A bike, nothing strange

Stands to his left, waiting.

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But he stays, eyes on his screen

And silhouettes I’ll never know

Dancing in his eyes.

He checks his battery life

And adjusts his brightness again

For though his battery can last

The light is dimming.

I raise my hand halfway

And it stays, floating like a statue

Whose purpose has been long forgotten.

So I lower my hesitant greeting

For what would I say?

A hello? A condolence?

A lie about the weather?

I walk on

But some part of me is still there

Walking past the bench forever

Wondering if the man on the bench

Could really use that hesitant greeting.