The corner traffic light sets an even pace
for suburban commuters driving home.
Pin oak, boxwood and benches, each
sequined by raindrops lit by late sun,
punctuate the well-swept sidewalk.
A fence of wet iron pickets encloses
five round tables and fifteen chairs
cozied up to their storefront.
Under Starbuck’s now sun-dappled
green umbrellas, the large, the small,
the young and old settle into
dry straw-backed chairs, sipping,
talking, reading, watching, being
watched, or thinking their own
thoughts, except for a
three-year-old who appears
sometimes restless, sometimes stunned.
The traffic light turns green,
and the three-year old thinks
(in his three-year-old way)
“I’m out of here!”
©2014 Marguerite Beck-Rex