Double-Take

There’s a woman I pass in the mornings

Who prefers not to nod a hello,

Not unusual for a New Yorker;

That’s the way that these things often go.

 

She seems close to my age, but walks slower

And her clothing is baggy and loose,

Unlike most of us out there with leggings,

Which she’d likely not wear, I deduce.

 

Yet this morning I passed her and noticed,

As I swiveled for a double-take,

That her t-shirt was very familiar

And quite certainly not a mistake.

 

For it once nestled, folded quite nicely,

In a drawer with the rest of my tees,

But I’d donated it to the thrift shop

Where I bring things that no longer please.

 

I was glad to see somebody wear it

Who’d appraised it with different eyes,

Yet I wondered why I hadn’t kept it

As an exercise shirt in my size.