Porches and Patios

On porches on upper Willow Wind Street
white Adirondack chairs stare
silently across the tree-lined street.
Rustic bent willow loveseats
offering plush pillows sit empty.
Porch swings, cypress rockers,
gliders, loungers, potted plants—
all welcoming by design--yet deserted.

Historically, a prosperous man’s porch
held wooden ice boxes for milkman’s
early morning milk and cream delivery.
Neighbors swapped family gossip there,
shared exploits of eccentric ancestors
cherished in their collective memory.
Men read the evening paper, while
their wives knit and purled sweaters,
nodding and chatting with passersby.

Now affluent families crave comfort
behind study cedar privacy fences.
Exhusted working moms and dads
huddle around the barbecue or firepit,
watching their children romp with the dog.
Now the decorator pillows adorn
cushioned settees on back patios
hidden beneath climbing roses or honeysuckle.

Yet on unpainted cottage porches
across town behind the car dealers,
tattoo parlors, and gas stations,
giggling children play with legos
while snuggling parents sip sodas.
Now on along side train tracks
cousins and neighbors stop by
crumbling porches crowded with
bicycles and discarded sofas
to discuss movies and Wal-Mart specials,
their common lives intimacy rich.