rose-tinted fries, a poem

He stepped into my world one day
or maybe I stepped into his
I don’t remember.

but what I do recall is the sweet
greasy, buttery, oily fries of those Five Guys
the burgers dripping into the rose-tinted air.

Like so many others, he was unremarkable
in the most memorable of ways
Just another guy who stood by himself within the crowd.

Those are the guys with the biggest smiles in the dark and the best stories in the silence.

Years pass. The fries are gone now. and those five guys
have moved on, to places anew, and some hipster boutique —
a clothes store, or some bastardisation of Hawaii —
will take its place.

But he stayed. He always stayed.

And I’m so much more alive because of him.