I started across Central Park one summer

Night, passing a young lady and glancing

At her; she looked away. So I deliberately

Walked a little faster, to move on and

Not seem too attentive; but halfway across

The park, realizing by the sound of her

Heels that she was keeping up with me, I

Slowed down to make that easier for her.

I was thirty then and forgot that walk

For years, until it somehow came to mind,

The sound and pace of her steps, loud, and swift

And steady, indicating her resolve,

Her prudence in keeping up with me, as

Surely as looking away from me had.

We threaded our way on a windy night

Under the shadowy trees, as quickly

As we could, to the West Side and safety;

There we parted, without a glance from her

That I could see, and certainly not a word.

What is prudence? Keeping up if you can

When crossing a park, or a bridge, which may

Be unwise, but imprudence soon mended

By acknowledging necessity. All done

With none of those words entering your mind.

What else? It’s suddenly realizing

That you’ve been acknowledged, and slowing down.