47 cracks in
the sidewalk
between 23rd and 29th
on Harris Street
mother's back
still unbroken
as I, young and carefree,
pass Audrey's house
continuing on
under the watchful gaze
of the plastic cow
high up on her narrow perch
above the Dairy Mart
arriving now
at Grandma's house
the ripe blueberries calling
from friendly bushes that
frame the front door
Ford Falcon
bright red
gleaming in sudsy sunlight
tells a joke to the spurting
garden hose
as it takes its bath
the resident gray squirrel
self-appointed head of the
neighborhood watch
makes his rounds
patrolling from tree to tree;
stealth rodent
in the back yard lies
the town of
Matchbox
cars, trucks, a little yellow cement mixer
that really turned
as it was pushed along
some winding highway to nowhere
that imagination constructed
on the patio
in the kitchen
a rich aroma announces
coffee
percolating
the casserole is almost
done
but all that must wait;
for the moment
I am the King
of this childhood realm
looking down from the
leafy throne room
of my box elder castle
the branches make their report:
all is well
down below
far below
the world goes on
without me
cars drive by unaware they are
observed from above
a city bus sighs
as it passes
in a hurry to get to somewhere
and a man in a red hat
wonders where the
blueberry bushes went
as he makes his way
thoughtfully
up the sidewalk
counting the
cracks