Sidewalk Poetry #36

Hunt Walking


If you could be there
with the rest, coming out

of Vernondale's store
carrying bags

in late spring, and if,
looking far down the road

where the white houses waver
in heat, you could see

for the first time
since winter, old Hunt,

the crippled man, walking
by not quite falling

down first on one side,
then on the other

holding aloft the bony
wing of his cane,

you would understand why
they have stopped

on the porch by the sign
that says Yes We Are Open,

without knowing
where they are

going, or what it is
they hold in their hands.

[Wesley McNair.]

[Sidewalk in Portsmouth, NH.]