The shuttle comes every fifteen minutes,
But it came early today.
The driver picked up a carefully wrapped red box
And walked down the aisle of his bus
With a smile, extended hand and heavy accent –
“Does anybody want some chocolate?”
I took one just to be polite.
I’m not normally in the mood for chocolate,
But it was delicious.
He said he got them from a tiny European Bazaar
Just off Mt. Hope.
He gave me turn-by-turn directions,
“Just in case you ever want to go,” he said.
I felt an irrational desire to shake his hand.
He traced alphabet letters with a pointed finger,
Spelling his name out for me with careful enunciation.
“S – A – E – D,” as he gripped my hand,
“Pronounced Say-ed.”
Hours later, when I got back on the shuttle,
He was still driving – I guess his shift hadn’t ended yet.
He was early again.
I noticed the corner of the same, red box poking
Out of his miniature personal trash bin.
I asked if he had given out all his chocolate.
He laughed and said yes,
Then started to tell me about his hometown.
I couldn’t really figure out everything he was saying.
He had an accent – maybe Polish, or Ukrainian;
Something Eastern European, if I had to guess.
He told me that in his hometown, everybody knew everybody.
(“Not like here,” he said, “where neighbors are strangers.”)
Adults used to carry chocolates in coat pockets,
Pressing them into palms of their favorite kids
As they passed each other in the streets.
He told me how back home, he was a police chief.
We talked the whole way back –
There were long periods of time where I would smile and nod,
even though I couldn’t completely decipher his awkward cadence.
But this wasn’t the I don’t really care what you’re saying,
I’ll just nod and smile type nodding.
I heard him and understood him without words,
Nodded because he was genuine –
Because I meant it too.
He eventually shrugged and said with a sad smile,
“Times are always changing.
Times change so fast.”
But for a moment, he was police chief again
In the streets of Lublin,
Or maybe Odessa,
Fumbling chocolates out of his pockets,
Just like old times.
