Say Hi

Since I've left the house this morning for work,
not only has the usual neighbor waved good morning,
but two others working in their yards as I drove
out of the neighborhood. I don't know their names.
I know they don't know me, other than the guy
from the family at the dead end of the street
driving the plain white Jeep Cherokee.
Why make today awkward with new hellos?
At the crosswalk up by the elementary school,
a man and his boy walked by, made eye contact
and nodded with a smile feeling reserved
for friends. Had I ever seen them before? No.
I'm sure I hadn't. By the time I was in traffic
downtown, waiting at a red light, I wouldn't look
around. I knew what I'd see: people looking
from their open windows, nodding, waving,
telling their kids to say hi. So, I didn't give in.
I just spent the rest of the day with my head down,
curious as to what everyone knew that I didn't.

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Larry D. Thacker's poetry and fiction can be found in publications including Spillway, Still: The Journal, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Poetry South, The Southern Poetry Anthology, The American Journal of Poetry, and Illuminations Literary Magazine. His books include four full poetry collections, two chapbooks, as well as the folk history, Mountain Mysteries: The Mystic Traditions of Appalachia. His two collections of short fiction include Working it Off in Labor County and Labor Days, Labor Nights. His MFA in poetry and fiction is earned from West Virginia Wesleyan College. Visit his website at larrydthacker.com.