I bring Fae flowers. When I cross the street, <br />She meets and gives me lemons from her tree. <br />As if competitors in a Grand Prix, <br />The cars that speed past threaten to defeat <br />The sharing of our gardens and our labors. <br />Their automotive moral seems to be <br />That hell-for-leather traffic makes good neighbors. <br /> <br />Ten years a widow, standing at her gate, <br />She speaks of friends, her cat's trip to the vet, <br />A grandchild's struggle with the alphabet. <br />I conversationally reciprocate <br />With talk of work at school, not deep, not meaty. <br />Before I leave we study and regret <br />Her alley's newest samples of graffiti. <br /> <br />Then back across with caution: to enjoy <br />Fae's lemons, it's essential I survive <br />Lemons that fellow-Angelenos drive. <br />She's eighty-two; at forty, I'm a boy. <br />She waves goodbye to me with her bouquet. <br />This place was beanfields back in '35 <br />When she moved with her husband to L.A.<br /><br />Timothy Steele<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fae/
