Davis Street

How much my life has centered
On this street, this curbed corridor
Adorned with homes, magnolias, memories.

Here I walked my son to school,
Hiked to scout meets, lunged hell-bent,
Late to church on Sundays.

I’ve biked to the park at dawn’s crack,
Rolling down the worn and shadowed slab,
Praying I’d miss the potholes.

And, more recently, week
After weary week I’ve dragged myself
To clinics, doctors, rehab.

Some future morn, by plan,
My ashes will be brought this way
From the mortuary two miles north.

But now I’m rumbling
Over the rail crossing,
Off to visit granddaughters

In toy-strewn, laugh-filled rooms,
Beaming at my blessings
On this boulevard of joy.

©2010 John I. Blair

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