NINE

Kathy Moffet

There were nine in all.
All asking if the seat next to me were taken.
A young banker type.
Another, also young, looking the part of a broker.
Another the part of a joker, an actor.
Another was decidedly a teacher.
There was even a sailor, bronzed, friendly.
And another,
then another.
I told them all that I was sorry,
that this seat on the train was reserved
for someone special who was running late 
from his office.  
Again.
And then there was an eighth who asked.
Quiet, intense, intelligent.
He searches search engines
for doctoral treatises,
cold case investigations,
genealogical treks up family trees.
I lifted the reserved card
and we sat and we talked.
Then along came number nine
out of breath and out of time.
It was you.
Sorry, this seat is taken.