The roads are always quiet,
since not too many students
live in these houses near the school.
Most of the people I pass are old,
walking their dogs
in the same bent-over way.
They smile at me and say hello,
even though I don’t know them.
I always stop to pet their dogs.
I don’t usually turn on
any other streets, but today
I take only one right and one left,
so I’ll remember the
way back.
The houses down this street
are chipped and crumbling.
They look like my old house.
A kid shouts from
somewhere up ahead,
so I follow the sound.
When I get closer, I see
it’s Greg, bouncing a ball
he’s some kind of sports
announcer or something.
A woman sits on the porch,
watching him. I’m not too close
to them, but even from here
I can see her skin,
darker than Greg’s,
and her wheelchair.