On the Path

They play jazz on summer Saturdays

Photo by Rikki Chan on Unsplash

From my back window, I see a man
in a blue bike helmet ring his little bell,
a signal of his passing. Hooded sweatshirts

parade in masked canter, side by side,
two by two, a sign of our covenant.
Just up the path is a memory home,

stories tall and filled with waiting.
They play jazz on summer Saturdays.
while gray-haired humans stare out

of big windows as we all pass by.
Do they long to walk with us again,
or are they past the pace of longing?

We build each life by these tiny,
fleeting moments, by wheel, by shoe,
by leash and bagged hands,

we shuffle and negotiate, softly gesture,
a tense obsession to mark our passing
with the loud ping of our little bells.

© Trapper Markelz 2021

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