Lynde St.

Lynde Street is one of those

Just off a busy streets

Only local traffic streets

And the residents know it.


I chose to walk out of boredom

On a mid-June Tuesday

The prolonged dusk kept the temp down

A little league game going on in the distance –

The neighborhood’s backing track.


Every house offered some charm

hanging flowers, crumbling brick,

A little something in the window,

I had to squint to make it out,

The lounging cat.


Doors were left open, as if to say,

“We’re only hot, no, don’t come in.”

I felt welcomed to look, at least.

That is, except for the white houses

With their newly paved driveways

And impeccable hedges.

The voices coming from inside

Going on about spraying the lawn.


It wasn’t until I hit a main road,

The cars hustling by,

That I noticed the houses changed.

A lawn existed out of principle,

The backyard hedges, fortified overhead.


I thought back to Lynde Street –

That quiet tunnel –

And the off duty mechanic,

working on his truck, tinkering.

Better sidewalking, undoubtedly.


The baseball game ended.

The mosquitoes moved in.

Twilight came across my hometown.

Not so bad,

Not a thing to do

But walk home

Through mid-June Americana.