my favorite roses bushes
belong to the man on Jefferson
why they’re my favorites, I’m not so sure
reds and pinks, clinging to the fence
they are free, wild in a tame sort of way, reaching for the street
he waves at me from his porch
as I pass by, walking
I wave back and I look across the street 
toward the other porch sitters 
I wave at them too and I want to ask them all
     question upon question
but I most likely never will
our relationship consists of only hellos