(c) 2017
Mother is always crossing the wrong street
is at the wrong corner, is moving the wrong way.
I cross with her, arguing out the steps.
At one point I began to turn the right way
and left her behind, first in guilt, then glee.
Not that I have always been careful.
Once my heel got caught in the sewer grill
and a crowd gathered to jeer.
Right way. Wrong way. Who knows?
The streets are endless and in each passing decade
they lose luster.
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