I Spy

I'm not much of a poet, but I started this series last spring, inspired by the many characters I "spy" when I'm walking around town, especially along the river. It's a break from the regular posts, anyway.


Two wizened old bikers with long white manes and black t-shirts sitting in the park. “Nahce day fer eksircizin.” Yup;

A sleek blonde sophisticate adjusting oversized sunglasses in the rear view mirror of her red merc convertible, following a leisurely lunch on the riverboat;

Man in uniform sitting at the helm of his pick-up truck, listening to conservative talk radio at full volume and staring fiercely out at the river;

Two baby ducks instead of three, which sends me worriedly over to inspect and find the third yellow puff blissfully grass-grazing, unaware of my concern;

A dirty old man eyeing a 15 year old and absentmindedly fondling himself;

Illicit lovers happily planning their future, dreaming out loud, starry eyed holding hands across the camry’s console;

Myself. Quiet. Watchful. Going up and down the steps and cutting across the old alley to feel the bricks underneath my shoes. What do my objects of interest think when they see me?