Walk to Culvers

Walked out the front door just past noon.
Trotted down the steps, unlatched the gate, left the yard.
Headed north on the sidewalk--first I was swimming in french fries.
Wendy's baking up fresh batches of sea-salt thick-cut for lunch rush.
I held my iPod in my hand.
It's black and smooth. A song from Grease
played. You Better
Shape Up.
Several children, elementary school, played in a front yard.
All boys in trunks.
One held the hose and yelled. He sprayed wildly. I jumped
the puddles.
The clouds formed.
My face felt dark.
I had no reason to go to Culvers. I did not want
anything. Just a good walk.
Uphill.
I turned around.
The wind whipped. The kids were gone.
I waited at a light.