(c) 2017
Mother is always crossing the wrong street—
at the wrong corner—
moving the wrong way.
We cross together—
arguing the steps.
At some point I began turning
the right way.
I left her behind,
first in guilt, then glee.
I haven’t always been careful.
Once my heel caught
in a sewer grate.
A crowd gathered to jeer.
Right way, wrong way—who knows?
The streets are endless.
With each passing decade
they lose luster.
