We walked down Charles Street, you and I—
therapists used to do that sort of thing
with their young patients,
a way to be together without expectation
or confrontation—
and you told me about grievances
you had with school and family.
Aggrievance
was your ticket of entry.

What stays with me now
forty years later
is how generous you wanted to be
to the owner of a parked car
with a ticket stuck to the windshield.
You pulled it off,
crumpled it, put it in your pocket.
You told me proudly,
Now they won’t have to pay!