11 Years Old, NYC
My friend Anna and I walk to school.
Shopkeepers are cranking metal grilles
up front windows
as the Second Avenue bus
rattles away from the curb.
She chatters,
then I chatter,
then she goes again,
like the squirrels as
they scurry up a worn maple.
Gray buildings around and above,
slice of clear sky
down the middle of the street.
A cold April breeze
whips my pink spring coat.
We step around the old guy
who sits on the bubble-gummed
sidewalk every day
with his mostly empty cup.
Waiting at the corner for the light
to turn, we practice a move
from the jazz routine
we’re learning for recital, double
over laughing when we both
screw it up.
© Elizabeth L. Merrick
Elizabeth L. Merrick
The Loch Raven Review 