At The Bank Poem by Perdita Young (Hanna Wang)

I saw him in the bank, being told
by a young lady clerk to input
the password of his bank account.
He hesitated a while, seemed to doubt
about everything and everyone there.

I know of him: a former Secretary
of the Party Committee, of my university,
known to be tactful and moderate,
involved in many a historic event,
and survived kinds of adversity.

I tried to look away, and stayed off,
though he couldn't have any impression
of me, I guessed. It could have been awkward.

I overheard them talking
about posting money to someone named Zhang;
The young clerk told him at last after checking
that there was virtually NO money in
his card, merely eight yuan (RMB) left in it.

Would he still insist on posting?
She asked him.
He said nothing and was very silent.

April 15th,2017.