Where the bike path enters the park, two boxers sparred,
bearded and broad, smooth and skinny -- brothers?
Red leather smacked the younger man's palms, not hard,
each one's eyes intent on the other's.A woman in gym shorts held a violin
and bow, with a dog like a mop on a leash that she'd cinched
to her waist. She tucked the instrument under her chin.
He saw me and barked; she played Bach, eyes clinched.
On the trail through a refugee haven, a young man strode,
dark eyes and fringe of soft beard, in a tunic, on track
to the bus, passing girls in hijabs. A rooster crowed
as they giggled, ogling his receding back.
I find joy looking out of myself into people
whom I glide by, invisible.
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Late last summer, just thinking that I might start a poetry blog heightened my awareness during a bike ride on the John Lewis Freedom Trail.
I was halfway to a sonnet, with three images and a connecting thought, but then I had to trust that somewhere in the language I would find two pairs of rhyming words to express the essential elements of each storyette, as do boxers sparred...brothers...not hard...each other's. Finding such rhymes for each quatrain was fun, even the mornings I woke around 3 to jot down a rhyme.
As each image comes from a different neighborhood along the path, I hope that the poem also gives the reader a sense of Atlanta's character. - WSS
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