i choose an old man <br />i choose his hand that feeds the pigeons on the plaza <br /> <br />i like the way he keeps his cane inside his armpit <br />the way he holds another memory of youth on his right hand <br /> <br />i love him more with his uncut beard <br />his mustache untrimmed <br /> <br />his shirt and his beret all black from the moment i met him <br />till he died. <br /> <br />i chose him, the way i have chosen myself <br />to meet you soon, when you come back to ask where i was<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-way-i-have-chosen-myself/
