Day 8: "Everyday Road"

This was the prompt for Day 8:

"For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general. Maybe something related to taking out the trash each week or washing the dishes every night--or something more bizarre (yet still a routine)." Read more at: April PAD Challenge: Day 8

"Everyday Road"

I know him and I know her, I know
the lopsided post-thaw twigs on the
trees lining this road, know when
they might fall on the sidewalk, I
know the gentle old men with eager
dogs, strawheaded middle-aged women
in arrogant walking shoes, unstoppable
all-weather joggers, weary undergrads
with backpacks, young mothers with
kids back from school, even solemn
drivers of cars and buses that always
take this road: rumble, tumble, juggle
The road goes where I go, strolls in
the morning, scurries like a chipmunk
to the library, returns home with heavy
trudges in evening, strides to a concert,
a café or a late meeting. I know, I know.

The young man wearing a mint-hued
coat that never waves, talks or smiles
knows I have long dark hair, sparkling
eyes and a knack for floral shirts. He sees
me trudging, walking, strolling, hurrying
his brown cheeks tanned, khaki trousers
frayed at the bottom, his fawn shoes
darker in tone day by day. He notices I
notice and becomes awkward. Glances,
wasted chances, mothballs, smell of mint
freshly picked. And there’s a schoolgirl
at the bend over the spring. I know she’s
three inches taller in the past three months
Her cheeks getting plumper she’s now
careful to look well-dressed, has choices
in color and clothes, at times red, at times
green and sometimes a wild Aragula mix
She’s unpredictable. I can predict she’ll
wear a new outfit the next day at the bend
She knows I notice her. She frowns, I smile.

One day he’ll be gone, get a job, get
new clothes, shoes and invite someone out
One day she’ll be gone, for college, change
boyfriends every semester, still sulk and frown
The road will lose me too, one day. Maybe I’ll
be gone to a new town, by a new spring, walk
a new road lined by other patient trees, still
count the pebbles, the sand grains, and know
the turns, know the bends by heart, and know
other passers-by. I’ll stroll, stride and run, I’ll
sprint down on my toes, catch a breeze, I’ll
write another piece for that everyday road.





Image from the Internet: "Road with Cypress and Star"; Artist: Vincent Van Gogh