2016/walkers

In this house I hear cars
more than birds.
Tires lapping past
on a raining morning.
Open curtains expose walkers,
mothers with strollers,
husbands strolling with wives,
workers walking home
from their day.
Joggers cleaning up after
their dogs.
The old woman down the block
with her walker
who pauses at my corner
in her long walk around
the block with her walker
to tell me in Spanish
about her knees, which
she rubs as she speaks,
or to comment on the roses
in bloom.
The great grandfather out
on summer days, describing
things to the sleeping child
in the stroller.
The man who walks with crutches,
the cheerful one with one leg,
the black man who frowns at me
through the dining room window,
tiny Hispanic mothers, children
themselves, with several children
of their own.
Athletic young women with tiny dogs.

3/11/16