The Real You

On my early morning walks

I dress in workout clothes,

A baseball cap and old wire specs,

For comfort, I suppose.

 

I pass some people every day

Yet there are just a few

With whom I share a smile or wave;

Of names, I have no clue.

 

They must live in the neighborhood,

But never do we meet

Except for when we exercise;

Today, though on the street

 

I passed a walking “friend”

And recognition went both ways.

We laughed and then she said,

“It’s the real you!” and, in her gaze,

 

I understood just what she meant.

With earrings, clogs and jeans

And round blue glasses, I look different

From our morning scenes.

 

Of course, she, too, looked different

But I’m glad we could reveal

To each other that persona

That the world would see as “real.”