Dec 18, 2020
The Porch
On warming Saturday mornings
I would sit on your porch
Looking over a complex of neighbors
Some carrying in their grocery bags
Some taking out their trash
A few walking their dogs
As, flying, some children pedal’d passed
Then, as time passed us still,
The sun turned its head to the moon
Showing the darkness of its back
With little holes of light
Peering through every starry crack
Like water-gleaming caves
Wind blowing through its tunnels
With a nipping-nose cold
From surely some alien place
Yet by then, my patience shortened
So I would inch closer to the door
But you always asked me to stay
With you, with them
And so then, as you told another story
I was finally beginning to warm up
