Everybody 
I stood at a bus corner
one afternoon, waiting
for the #2. An old
guy stood waiting too.
I stared at him. He
caught my stare, grinned,
gap-toothed. Will you
sign my coat? he said.
Held out a pen. He wore
a dirty canvas coat that
had signatures all over
it, hundreds, maybe
thousands.
           I’m trying
to get everybody, he
said.
           I signed. On a
little space on a pocket.
Sometimes I remember:
I am one of everybody.

                         Marie Sheppard Williams