On my way home I saw a song

or rather I felt a song

and saw the man singing it.

He was on a street corner

bus stop, waiting,

mouth open, leaning back

for diaphragm’s sake.

The sound traveled through

my closed window and

I turned to look and thought,

yes, I feel that way, too.

Earbuds in, dappled light

at my feet, the urge is

strong enough so that I

am audible. How could I

not sing? I wanted to stop

and join him, disregarding

the flow of evening traffic,

Ask him what he was singing

and tell him I was there

to join him. Dinner waiting,

family waiting, I drove on,

but thought that if I’d stopped

to sing, he would’ve known why.