Another poem for National Poetry Month


Around the park, around the elementary school
I walk the dog for a half hour most days,
making three loops. I chat with familiar dog walkers,
our conversations either canine or weather related.
I give a nod to the father and son
who practice baseball in all seasons,
a wave to the janitor at the school, the drunk who collects
empties and the young boy who comes to the
playground alone. I smile and say hello to the two
women who sit on the side steps of the school.

I take my visiting daughter to share
my new walking circuit since discovering this
park last year. After we greet and pass the
two women, my daughter says,
“Mom, you do know they are hookers?”
I didn’t.
It wouldn’t change my affability to them
but I am startled to realize that my
daughter, almost 32 years younger,
is so much more street-wise.

by Leana McClellan

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