Morning Scrum

In the deli, waiting, looking out

And there is another face having just stood straight 

The other side pluming cig smoke into the glass

Open collar sleeves rolled white shirt

Hair receding but left to grow in another plume

His skinny arm reaching out now

For the door as I am leaving and we negotiate through

His eyes past me to the man behind the counter

Whose apron front is stained with mustard and blood.