By Betty Zimmer
I saw you early this morning
in your dark blue work shirt
and pants,
hosing the sidewalk
in front of the building.
I saw you this morning
in your dark shirt and trousers
driving the bus I was on
down Lexington Avenue.
I saw you today in the coffee shop
in your charcoal shirt and jacket
where we had coffee together
and talked about real estate.
I saw you this afternoon
wearing your white gi
and black belt.
I bowed, you bowed back,
then hugged me
in the dojo on 23rd Street.
I saw you this evening
in your black business suit
with briefcase
helping a blind man
at a crosswalk
on lower Fifth Avenue.
I saw you today.
