not Al Pacino

not Al Pacino

I was sitting in the coffee shop
when he walked in, I swear he did
Al Pacino, in Cleveland for a film shoot
or maybe it was the Christ
holy light of each of our hearts
or my father, departed and all, as he is
returning to tell me
to complain to the Honda dealership
for the extravagant amount they charged
for an inspection that brought up nothing
nothing but my own lack of guile
the trusting naivete
Dad had a hard time
accepting
in me

assuredly, it was not Al Pacino
it was the handsome, scruffy Balkan guy
who comes here for espresso
but in him, perhaps
a latent everyday savior
or a doting father
the kind of man you might find at Starbucks
playing dominoes with his friends
proudly showing off his little boy
the kid, a tad shy and a bit soft-headed
with a grand, budding heart
that not Al Pacino
will not appreciate
for years to come