i choose an old man
i choose his hand that feeds the pigeons on the plaza
i like the way he keeps his cane inside his armpit
the way he holds another memory of youth on his right hand
i love him more with his uncut beard
his mustache untrimmed
his shirt and his beret all black from the moment i met him
till he died.
i chose him, the way i have chosen myself
to meet you soon, when you come back to ask where i was
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-way-i-have-chosen-myself/
