The Way I Have Chosen Myself Poem by RIC BASTASA

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