Look out the window sometime;
with the bold winds dancing through
the Banyan trees it’s pretty in a lanced way,
a little bodega in the neighborhood-way.
From the balcony, I can hear gentle laughter
of soccer boys and soccer girls
kicking dogwood trees instead of soccer balls.
Damn, if it doesn’t get me every time.
If I were older, I would have fled the scene
and left the dimes and dollars for a loss—
but the balanced way the sun light
hits the nonsense breeze —
makes me look left and right
and over and under every time.