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Winter and Summer on Paulina Street


Winter on Paulina StreetAn old man’s shovel scrapes sidewalks dustedLike cakes with powdered sugar spread on top.Once he was red headed boss of backshop.\Now he’s fitted with fake hips and bustedBut he limps and lugs a mighty shovel.His wife fears he toils above his levelSo she sends their grown up daughter to help.Old man miffed presses on; first does his walkThen next walk, my walk and on up the block.I too am an old man. I give a yelpBecause he stole my snow; he stole my showI should tell him just damn well where to go.The poets say good fences make good neighbors.I say good friends don’t steal their neighbors laborsSummer on Paulina StreetHer feet, despite the heat, beat the sidewalkAs she jogs, all beauty lost in ear buds.I sit in shade where I bake, sweat and gawkScoping her buds and those tight running duds.I rest and watch my walk and what walks by.Nannies speaking Polish on cell phones whiskStrollers past my front porch. Their babies cry.My weary neighbor yanks her hot kid’s wrist.Boys with pads on cut knees skate by madly.Dogs pull walkers. Birds sing their symphony.A tired day worker’s treated like a thief.In summer’s swirl of life that’s all too brief.I squint at my laptop’s faint sun washed screenAnd relish life in this day’s splotch of green.

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