Here I Am Poem by Butch Decatoria

Here I am
Exiting the smoke shop
Down the street
Observing ostriches
An old gray haired granny
Driving a new silver ‘vette
While a big gal drives by
In a little red fiat whip
Pass us by
Here I am
In Stranger-Land
Hyper aware
In the age of ride-share
Here I am
Where it is when
Among many plenty
Not questioning
The Zen they're in
Not without a pip of grace
Know thy own name
Where I am
A light
A flame
A shelter from the rain
Here I am
A neighbor
A brother
A handshake
A pack of smokes
Called Time.
Pass us by
Here
Where we are…
In a blink of the eye.