Inner-Companion


His kind of companion never had an expiration,
Nor did he remember when he found it.
Like a worry stone in his pocket
Except it wasn’t a stone.

His pocket was especially comforting
In romantic movies,
All night fast food joints,
Dark barrooms,
Starbucks’ lounges,
Rain soaked streets,
Anyplace he was alone.

Like the pass key to a dream,
His companion stayed in his pocket
A comfort as he sat alone
In his favorite subway car,
Always at night,
Always stopping at empty stations,
Year after year.

Then at one stop,
A voice from nowhere said,
“This is it.”

Dreamer as he was,
He exited onto an empty platform,
Save for the angel-like woman in all white,
Smiling,
Gesturing to follow.

He’d never seen such a bright color
Streaming down a subway exit before.
Yes, he thought,
Maybe this is it,
My stop,
My very own exit/entrance.

He smiled back.

Peering into the sunlight
He fingered his pocket,

That place of sanctuary,
But his hideaway companion was moving on.