Before sidewalks,
there was the path
between the house and garage,
a little cement walkway
between indoors
and grandpa.

Then,
when you were a little older,
but not much,
there was the sidewalk
where you could ride your
bike (with training wheels)
from one end of the house to the other.
That was freedom,
that was big-kid stuff.

Then,
while standing in line
in the school cafeteria
holding your green lunch tray,
remembering your straw,
someone says:
'step on a crack,
break your mothers back'
you look down and realize
the floor is made of
linoleum tiles.

Suddenly,
sidewalks are life and death,
and the path to the garage
is a delicate operation
of back and forth.

11/13/2008

Posted on 11/13/2008
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