On the Stoop in the Hood
As I sit on the stoop in the hood~
I see many a different happenings~
I can still see it plainly~
The corner “one way sign” where people gathered and stood or~
Passed as they ride various riding things~
That if I were young again I too surely would; if I was not so afraid of getting hurt.
I see a multitude of different kitties that never say “Hello”~
For some reason they are never friendly~
They look at me strangely and on their way they rapidly go~
As if I would treat them meanly, but truly this is not so.
Once a squirrel sat next to me hoping for some food~
I was stunned when it came up the cement steps~
Where I sat on the hard wood part of the stoop.
I see drunkards stumbling, fumbling, and talking to no one~
Once a solitary sorry soul man came staggering by with~
A stuffed animal on his shoulder ~
Conversat-ing away with the ragged, furry body~
Which I hope not once alive creature? ~
For he did seem to love it, I think it appeared like a figure of a cat? ~
Luckily he tottered and swayed quickly past~
For I cared not to be his next featured pet!
There was an empty plastic, beige bag tumbling up the street as~
The breeze took it by my seat~
As it blew tumbling up the dirtied street it~
Mossy-ied on from side to side touching cement broken side walks~
As if to test for openings for a place to rest~
But the current would not allow this thin vacant bag to even relax at best.
Children of many variety of colors riding their bikes without sometimes breaks~
Whom ca-reel to stops with rubber burning from their sneakered feet and~
Dust with smoke plundering up to cover legs up to knees~
I fear for them, those helmetless innocent heads but~
In the hood they seem to get to do as they very well please “the hell with what is best!”
Friendly people who say “Hello” who wish me well as they go about their day~
Sometimes mention a hint of a community happenings~
As they pass along their way.
In the distant I can hear the whistle of a train rumbling down some outlying tracks ~
I am curious where the sound comes from~
What that train is carrying? ~
As my thoughts malinger on the train has already long gone past.
Often seeing fire trucks tasking on to another place~
To my surprise I found me and others on one occasion~
With the fire truck parked outside my sitting stoop~
To watch the firemen do their duty up and down those same cement stairs~
Luckily it had been nothing serious~
Although good we were aware!
Oh I wish I had as I sat jotted down the things as I saw~
For now my memory fails this verse as I try and recall.
“Push harder memory” I say to myself~
Relive the times the stoop in the hood was my reality~
As I visited the unique environment now in my past~
I want to now describe it to thee.
So thus ends my recall for this verse~
As I teeter now on another space~
Until I someday return to a stoop in the hood~
To watch more interesting things take place.
Lisa J. Warner
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