A traffic light sets the even pace
For city commuters driving home on this avenue.
The broad and well-swept sidewalk
Is evenly punctuated by pin oak, boxwood and benches.
Each sequined by raindrops
A classic waist-high fence of vertical iron rungs
Almost encloses five small round tables and fifteen chairs
That cozy up to their storefront.
Under Starbuck’s now sun-dappled green umbrellas
The large, small, young and old
Settle into dry straw-backed chairs at the half-wet tables,
Sipping, reading, watching, being watched
On this curbside patio.
Bemused by print, or faces, or their own thoughts
Except for the two-year old,
Who alternately appears restless or stunned.
The red traffic light turns green.
The two-year old thinks, in his two-year old way,
“I’m out of here!”