Atlantic City, 1988

The shawl-clad babushka pushes a stroller
Across the boards. She has the sense
To stay up there, away from sand,
Where I am with my stroller, sunk
To the tops of its wheels. It won't move.
My daughter is crying. I'm getting angry.
I turn toward the boardwalk to see
The babushka, who's laughing at me.
I start to feel better. At least,
I've made somebody's day.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 16 times
Written on 2011-04-15 at 00:37

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