In the supermarket car park <br />I parked my Kawasaki <br />400 ZRX, new and gleaming, <br />locked it took the key <br />and turned to go, when <br />I was accosted by an oldish chap <br />who praised the bike and we <br />exchanged some technicalities; <br />he’d been a dispatch rider <br />once, and he asked me if he might <br />look closer at my motorbike. <br />“You’re very welcome, but I <br />will have to go now, <br />for I’m running late”, <br />I said. Too late now—I wish <br />I’d given him my time, <br />not walked away, but stayed to talk, <br />for a look of disappointment <br />flashed across his face, ‘crestfallen’ <br />was the word that came to mind. <br />I realize now that what he’d really wanted <br />was a chat, and I had walked away. <br /> <br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/too-late-now/
