I see him most spring mornings

striding purposefully toward the station

black suit

black laptop case in hand

a focused look in his brown eyes

striding with intent like he’s really going somewhere

a small smile, polite smile, to the passers by

pastel ties recycled day after day

black shoes, dull from the daily commute

i daydream to myself as I see him

i think he probably wears ‘those’ socks

with the day of the week written on them

thursdays socks today, embroided in purple

he sits on the side of his bed

and counts down to the weekend by the days written on the socks

tomorrow will be red writing

friday

1 day to go

weekend

i drive past him and the day dreams disappear

i know i’ll see him again tonight

after dark

when he’ll be out in his garage

lights on

working on his motorbike

overalls

white

a stark contrast to the days black suit

no more counting down the week by the colour of his socks

no more rushing for the train

just him

and his bike

man and machine

and again i start to drift off

wondering which is really him

deep down

is he the man in the suit

or is that just a show

does he smile as he pulls out the laptop

in the same way

as when he removes the engine cover

does the starbucks coffee taste as good

as the thick brew he holds in his hand

with a layer of greasy water floating on top

or is it just a means to an end

a split personality

so he can leave his real self at home with his bike

and i dream

about the day that on my way to work

he’s not striding along

in his red friday socks

but instead

i see those focused brown eyes

poking out from under a helmet

as he pulls out his drive

just so i can see

if his smile is the same polite nod he gives each moring

or if it’s a different

soul warming smile