At the Light

The young adults are back.

The bags and packs

Are swinging in the crossings.

Youth is spraying lithely

From the final summer sprinklers

Over sunny rented lawns.

My evening commute

Is longer,

Lively

Sitting at the light,

Watching all the college students

Sliding by.

The heat has eased.

The other cars are bleary, ugly,

Obstacles between my feet and couch.

A silly boy and girl are kissing in the street

Beneath my yellow traffic signal.

"Get out the middle of the road!"

I grouch, although nobody can hear

Sitting at the light,

Watching all my coiled seconds

Springing high.

I recently discovered

The uncaged joys of riding in the early winter

With my window rolled low.

The children caper happily across,

Blessed and blissfully clueless

To sandpaper age.

My vehicle is at the red.

My mind is wondering,

Uncertain how to fill my newly empty days,

Sitting at the light,

Watching all my precious decades

Slowly die.

- 8/27/25