My Daily Walk

Today as I was walking along the road
and dawn was rising over
the redwoods and the frosty meadows
a woman on a bike behind me shouted,
“On your left.” I muttered, “On your right.”

Then along came Tiny, the runner who once spat
when he passed me and yelled out, “Bitch.”
I call him Tiny because he’s short and muscular
and looks as if he would hate to be called Tiny.

The trees smile down on us, our human
struggles, although I notice the wrens
are not living so harmoniously.
Ruffled tail feathers and beak bites, all for a few seeds
when there are plenty more a few beats over.

The cars, too, why do they take this back road
if they’re in such a hurry? They careen
in on the curves just brushing my shoulder,
but I’ve learned that if I spread my arms
a little, the merest hint of wings, they veer away,
as if I’ve shown them something from another world.
© 2010 Nellie Hill. All rights reserved
return to list of poems