roses (number 2)
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
Nice snapshot of your walk!
There’s something just magical about porch sitting that I don’t think enough people know about. It offers opportunities for those hellos that you mention and creates a stronger sense of community. This is a lovely poem.