The way home

Taking her time crossing the intersection
heading north up the street
as we waited to turn the corner; at first inspection
she was pale grey elderly:
hair, eyes, face, coat, hands and expression
all grey all day.
In my rear view mirror traffic piled up.
All day she was taking to cross
Hey, lady, speed it up! I thought
but she stared ahead
looking nowhere and everywhere:
an old hag with a doggie bag
wandering across my path.
I almost leaned on my horn
when she just about paused
right in front of us.
Then she was gone, we were gone;
she had crossed, we had turned:
it was over.
We arrived at the store
to do our shopping:
bread, mild, meat, fruit, coffee, juice;
we headed home.

At our driveway, there she was,
heading south with her greyness
and her doggie bag.
I waited this time:
she was still looking nowhere
and everywhere

taking all day the cross
our driveway.
The traffic stopped
she existed
we existed
She cleared the driveway
I drove in
looked in the rear view mirror
looked at nothing
at everything.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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