Sidewalk

The flow is so good, the wind is perfect.
Dodging shadows to stay warm, scavenging the sun will do me good at 9 AM this morning as I make my way to my office. My arms feel good, Moses feels the sun. So do the tree and the Raven. All three sink in to my skin, their black ink warm.

Eardrums buzzing. My friends Willie and Lucinda.

"This guy, he's driving right here on the road, right by my car, right now. In his wheelchair. He must be nuts. Probably from that big rest home on 32nd right by Eddy's House? Crazy. Anyway, my plan is to be there..."

The flow is so good, the wind is so perfect.
9:15 AM after an amazing weekend with 18 pounds of joy, my life partner, my family, and the warmth of friends singing, laughing, kind of watching a baseball game while catching up. It was very hot. I sang "if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands -- if you're chubby and you're sweating, it's your fault." Same melody.

A person on a bike just rode past me, she's counting all the different ways to tell him that it's over. Or maybe she is wondering about God. Or maybe she, like me, does the latter unconsciously. As a sort of pedal tone of my day.

9:20 AM, the sidewalk.

To the person who invented the modern technology of making sidewalks with creases, you are a son of a bitch.

Bump. My foot moves .5 inches towards a place I don't want to to be.
Bump. My hat jiggles. Will it fall off this time?
Bump. My hip jostles, and not in a good way, not in the Marilyn Monroe way. But instead, in an infuriating, "crap, I'm screwed," manner that I have understood most of my life. Sidewalks, curbs, gravel, bumps in my own lawn. They can shift my world.
Bump. Double moves for my elbow and arm.
Bump. I guess a good one this time, helps me move my arm backward where it wants to be.
Bump. The foot falls all the way.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Damn bump.

9:40 AM, the sidewalk ends.

"I don't know,... crap. How does that guy think he is going to cross this street? Unbelievable. Don't they take buses these people?"

And then it's over, the frustration of the sidewalk way behind the walk I am taking now, the sun is back. I have work to do. An amendment to the creator of sidewalks: you are still a son of a bitch, but I thank you for the bumps. They move me.