Jabberwalkers***
On nice days (never in the rain), they
walk down our street around sunrise:
Two lithe young women in
color-coordinated shorts, t-shirts and baseball caps.
They lean forward as they walk, swinging
their arms meaningfully;
You’d think they were on an important
mission unless you listen to them.
While they walk they talk, loudly, but
they don’t say anything profound; only
Snatches of bitchy gossip drift in
through our open bedroom window as they pass.
Lime green cap: “I hate to say it, but
she . . .” and “I wouldn’t say it to her face, but . . .”
Pink shorts whines, “He just doesn’t get
it . . .”or “I don’t know why I put up with . . .”
I don’t know them, and if I say “Good
Morning” while fetching the newspaper
Their disdainful glances make it plain
they don’t want to know me. At dawn
I much prefer to encounter the runners
and cyclists who wave, or even the neighbor
Who stops to chat while her Labrador patiently
pees on my rosemary bush.
Still, I’m intrigued by these haughty
women who wear big diamond rings
And pony tails while they walk and talk
at sunup. Why, I wonder, do they dress
As if they are on their way to the
country club, but jabber in tones
More appropriate to a honky-tonk bar
where the music is very loud?
***
with apologies to Lewis Carroll
