A Sidewalk Roof
To live below the street proves strange;
Not just strange, it can be lonely.
Not just lonely, more like a yearning...
The walk is my ceiling, at least a piece of ceiling.
I hear the weather, the ice and sleet;
The pelting of the rain, I feel the heat of the sun,
The frigid February air…
It is not the weather that brings on the yearn,
It is the footsteps, the constant tap of the people above.
I know when the children pass, I hear their enthusiasm,
I can tell when there is a stroller, a wheelchair…
I feel as if each passerby, each tapping footstep can change my life…
I know when a lovely lady has passed over,
When an old man saunters with attempted dignity;
I wonder if it is a friend, a possible future companion…
I hear the tapping of the feet; I sometimes want to tap back,
To let them know they are above me…
It is my ascension to the walk above that perplexes.
The sounds of the footsteps are so different…
When I behold the faces, the demeanor of the passersby,
I seem to lose my imagination;
The longing that just the tapping footsteps create,
I now appear on the same level, apprehension has set in…
These folks just pass me by, as if breezes,
You would think that the faces would hold so much more…
That the yearning, the longing of the sidewalk ceiling
Would come to fruition with the meeting;
Yet, I just let them pass, I just remain still.
Upon my descending I lie on my bed...
I hear off in the distance the tapping,
It is getting closer, ever closer…
The steps are right above me now,
I wonder who it can be,
Can it be…?
© Joseph James
3/31/13 all rights reserved
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