Traffic – A Poem by Shirley Jones-Luke
For years cars wouldn’t drive
down our street, even in broad daylight,
pigeons and sparrows would hang
out on the telephone wires above our house,
a yellow and brown triple decker with
concrete steps and a mahogany-colored,
foyer, the door to the building
was never locked and would swing open
when the occasional truck drove
by carrying materials for new homes far
from our street, a different neighborhood
with tree-lined sidewalks, pristine parks
with inviting playgrounds, cool sprinklers
and welcoming benches to watch the world,
go by, cars would be near, parked and gleaming
in the sun, neighbors would gather to chat as their
children ran with abandon in the park, chasing
pigeons and each other until the street lights came
on and it was time to go home for dinner,
back to the two-car garages and the cars on
the street at the end of the day, glistening
now under the stars, silent sentries of the
homes and people who live in them, while
our street is empty, vacant and unguarded.
