O grasshoppers, you scoff to see me wave,
That gesture ceding you the right to cross
The concrete -- as though simply that could save
You from becoming just a smear, a gloss
Upon the Greenway's surface. No, you wait
Or fly away in haste. There's wisdom there.
Likewise, e'en though I know that many hate
My firm refusal of concern and care
Some motorists extend on city streets
That I traverse, that cut across my path.
I trust you not, as memory still bleats
Distress at one who waved, then hit me. Hath
We come to this, assuming evil of
Those who might truly mean us naught but love?Tweet