Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

Sitting on Sunday Morning, Sipping Coffee 
by John Hildebidle 

Fooled by the sun whispering May in March.
The chill off this concrete sidewalk bench must
be hard on her, the bundled woman just there,
hunched next to a stuffed plastic bag. The poor
can be so visible. Passers keep eyes
on shop windowssquash-rackets, bouquets, art
books. I could say hello or give something,
I suppose. But when at last I stroll by,
on the far, hard-to-see side of her, stands
a proper suitcase, not even scuffed. Ive
misread her: shes just idling before she
catches the train to see a few New York
shows or to spoil grandkids in Niantic.
Id better move, or miss the sermon.
Does she kill time inventing me a life?



Copyright © 2003 by John Hildebidle.

 
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