As I open the door to leave,
I glance up and down the street
until I spot you, your black silhouette
contrasted by the light post , watching me.
You’ve been there every night for weeks,
always just as I am leaving for work,
the graveyard shift at the diner.
And you follow me, from across the street
the entire four blocks from home to work
and then, you disappear until morning.

My co-workers amuse themselves over this.
Some say you are a stalker, others say you
are a secret admirer but too shy to say “hello”,
one claims that you are merely a figment
of my imagination; they laugh and chuckle
while I nervously work my shift, wondering
Will he come in tonight or will I just see him
when the dawn breaks?  And sure enough,
just as the sun begins to peek over the rooftops,
there you are, across the street, all in white now,
sitting on a park bench, watching and waiting.