For Selwyn

Saw him quietly in the corner
of his train seat
coughing once in awhile
a burp now and then.

Later on I looked beyond his
shuffle, the way
he cradled his hand.

A stroke? the boldness
of my question.

Yes, he answered shyly.
I had one too, and
our friendship began.

Off to Toronto, he says
words tumbling quickly,
to my son’s wedding. I’m from
Yorkshire.
Great country, Canada
and 18 years later still
huge to travel it all.

Tiredness soon captures
his chatty voice,
got to rest he says
as the attendant approached.

Selwyn orders a pillow
and winks, good for hiding
beer farts in the night. Know
something? he’s right.

© Richard L. Provencher

First published October 2010 Issue 4
Message in a Bottle Poetry Magazine