A man in shoes
that look like they
should be a woman’s,
something between
a loafer and a flat,
a high-cut kind of shoe
I personally hate.
On him they
look too small,
not too small
in the usual way,
but they don’t sufficiently
cover his feet.
They make his feet
look silly,
the way you
sometimes wear
socks at home
with shoes unwilling
to accommodate them.

He is a prim man,
his sage pants
match his striped shirt,
his clipped mustache,
the way mustaches
used to be,
not like my husband’s
somewhat wild
and disorderly one.

Another man sits
facing me in a two-pocket
shirt, the kind my
husband likes.
I wanted to ask
its brand,
it’s always hard
to find them.
Just as earlier
I wanted to inquire
about a woman’s shoes
that looked wide
enough for me.
Not shoes I like,
but shoes I’m
prepared to surrender

The two-pocket man
has a cane,
walking into the
store I saw two
men with canes in close
proximity, and
wondered at the odds.
Later I remembered
it is Veteran’s Day,
they are out,
the prim man could be
a veteran of World War II.
He reads a travel book
on the South Pacific,
I wonder if he
has already
been there.