The sun, it hides, yet the light remains
as I make my way toward baser pleasures.

A woman walks
by her mother’s side,
who on her feet,
wears tennis balls,
and across the street,
a jogger hustles,
who on her feet,
wears sneaker shoes.

I pass five children,
all princesses,
whose reign decrees
five hula hoops.

From down the street,
quickly approaching,
two teenage riders,
loud mower sounds—
on minibikes—one rides it solo,
and on the other,
a woman sits,
upon his lap.

I keep on walking,
the sound, it fades.
The trees, they speak,
with late-day breeze.
I see a father,
his son beside him.
Their work is silent—
a pickup truck.

The day is ending,
and you’d be forgiven
if you concluded
there was peace on Earth,
from walking down
15th Street
on this Sunday afternoon.