I like to walk down Walden Street with my grandma.
We all know each other down there. Walden Street
is poor, shacks sit there like big brown boxes, the dirt
yards, other little children playing in the dirt, the lucky few
with a big rubber ball or a tiny one in hand with old jacks.
We don't know we're poor though. We're content.
We're all one big family, including the dogs, cats,
squirrels, and birds. Grandpa told grandma to stop
feeding every cat she sees. She smiles and winks at me
because she plans to keep right on doing it. Grandma
even feeds the birds sometimes when she is sad.
She likes to look at them. I visit my grandparents
on the weekend. We sit on the porch and spy through
the cracks in the floor the chickens scratching in the dust
under the house. I love my grandparents, parents,
baby brother with his forever saggy and soggy diaper,
runny nose, every animal and all the people on Walden Street.
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