An innocent face bowed low over a notebook, one of those with a thin black ribbon attached so that you had a built-in bookmark. He scribbled while standing, wearing a cardigan marked with thick grey stripes.

He looks up. He looks down. He keeps writing.

The most endearing was the "SEC" that was just visible underneath his cardigan. Crisp, white dress shirt. Creased black dress pants. This one was a security guard, I realized, my heart growing warm. A male security guard, secure enough in himself to pen a piece of prose or rhyme while swaying to the subway chimes on a Friday evening.

Our eyes meet as he exits the car, and ever so briefly, he flashes a polite half-smile my way. And in that moment, he is instantly my favourite poet.

Write on, my security guard friend. Write on.

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<3