You walk down the sidewalk.
When the cars pause every now and then,
You stop too,
To savor the silence that barely lasts.
Then they come again,
Because you wear no shoes
So you can slip on the slimy grass
And imprint the marks of seashells on your toes,
Because you like to feel the rain wash down your arms
And hear the leaves crinkle under your feet-
The cars are your enemies,
Knocking off your ears with their shrill shrieks,
Pushing you down with their packed wind.
Now behind the sound barriers,
Some great cement walls,
You walk still, though now in your neighborhood.
The sun cooks you like a fire,
Still when you move,
And where your skin shows there is red.
Your chalky-pale lips stay a millimeter open,
Just so you can pull at the wind,
The cold wind that rolls and seems so pure on your tongue,
Almost like a pearl.
Your cheeks stay red,
But reflective and looking paralyzed like slabs of marble,
And they are red from the will of the wind,
That tries to push you ever so silently.
But your cheeks don’t hurt,
They sit at a stinging but good-feeling numbness,
And your eyes roll.
The leaves blow around your feet,
As if the wind wants to trip you,
But you still walk.
You look at the broken pieces of glass;
These pieces, white snow,
That gleam with a razor-sharp, artful innocence.
You look as you crunch on the snow,
The bits of glass that you fling up fall on your feet,
And as they melt your socks soak up like lakes.
Finally all is silent on your street.
You walk, the sun once again on your back,
And listen to the sounds that make you a soldier.
Your thermos and the remains of hot chocolate-chlurg, shling, chlurg, shilng,
Your keys at a silent bell’s ringle-ing.
The pattap of your sneakers like hollow tap-shoes
On rough marble.
You sound like a soldier.
Your shadow looks like a soldier.
You now look at the mirror,
The mirror that’s like shiny ice and the dull sides of knives,
Your eyes, temporarily blinded by the sun,
Show your skin as a blurry brown,
And your teeth a sky blue,
And you wonder-
Where did the soldier go?