Left Right Left
The drive from my comfort zone
into the city each morning
forces me to think,
Did I do everything wrong?
Has there been anything
I can claim victory over?
Then I see them
like an army platoon
rolling down every street,
women, young women,
pushing strollers carrying
their child,
some with more in tow
behind them like a train.
They march with tentative steps
as if waiting
for the father to join them,
a glance behind,
downturned eyes,
marching on
left right left right left.
The whine that filled my head
moments before
turns to guilt
that washes the blood from my veins
leaving me dizzy in my own stupidity.
The drive into the city
forces me to think
of where I've been
and where I am.