To the displaced in Capitol Hill alleyways.
You: Loitering the back lot’s door,
scribbling loose-leaf notes, aloof.
I observe from on high, unnoticed:
Damp fog barely dissipating;
I wonder what waits for another
on -my- side of secure entry.
Morning routine distracted,
curiosity embraces my focus;
who is this person without key?
I duck beneath the awning…
Has my noise nearly notified?
Does my peer prick at paranoia?
Tattered clothes, dusted plastic sacks,
rusted kid’s bike, a lit cigarette
and stadium seat cushion reveal all.
You double-take as glances meet,
“What’s your business?” I probe,
the early silence cracking suddenly.
But, passive becomes active:
You take flight on Mongoose steed,
orphaning a half-full box of crayons.
On exit the blur that is you,
a confirmation of your complexity,
unrealized empathy, moment of sonder.
[…] also check out some more neighborhood creativity on our new CHS Community Posts page. Here’s a poem submitted earlier this […]