I passed a man on a bench today

  Something, be it mild or more

  Had prompted this innocent stop

  To sit and think.

  A bike, nothing strange

  Stands to his left, waiting.

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  But he stays, eyes on his screen

  And silhouettes I’ll never know

  Dancing in his eyes.

  He checks his battery life

  And adjusts his brightness again

  For though his battery can last

  The light is dimming.

  I raise my hand halfway

  And it stays, floating like a statue

  Whose purpose has been long forgotten.

  So I lower my hesitant greeting

  For what would I say?

  A hello? A condolence?

  A lie about the weather?

  I walk on

  But some part of me is still there

  Walking past the bench forever

  Wondering if the man on the bench

  Could really use that hesitant greeting.