Member-only story
100 Days of Gladness, Day 14
There was the mean old man
walking his pain-in-the-ass dog,
a nonspecific little terrier with a bad
attitude loaded in the chamber at all times.
The guy never spoke to me,
while his dog snarled and lunged at mine
from across the street. He would just pull
his dog closer to him, sort of. This happened
every single morning of every single day.
When I didn’t see him for a couple weeks,
I would worry.
There was the blond 50-year-old woman who
rode her bike, spring, summer, fall,
through just our couple two or three streets,
never further, earphones on, half singing along,
standing up in the pedals, pumping up and down,
weaving left and right. Down the middle of the street.
I always wondered where her home was.
Never found out, but I knew she was ours.
She was our neighborhood bikersinger.
She belonged with us.
