Porch Droppings Poem by bob barci

The chill in the air is more prominent these days.
I’m inclined to stay inside
and avoid my porch sittings.
Porch sittings.
Now there’s a flash from the past.
Haven’t done that in way too long.
I’ve actually have been getting out and walking about
so evenings at home are few.
Too few to want to spend them
at home and out on the porch.

It was the crumpling noise that got my attention.
I had to turn and look as I waited for the F train.
Nothing there.
Just me and a batch of fully packed garbage bags.
But – crumpling, crumpling, and more crumpling.
My curiosity got the better of me
and I had to walk around the bags to see.
I thought I saw something dart between the bags.
There was a glimpse of what I thought
was a small kitten in search of food.
“Here Kitty. Come share my bag of nuts.”, I heard myself say.
And I scattered some on the platform.
I was taken by surprise
to discover no kitty.
A very large black rat emerged
To munch on the nuts.

Ma ruled the house
with an iron fist.
Too heavy-handed – I believe.
There was no need for it.
Too many rules and restrictions.
It held us kids back –
especially me – the quiet one.
Sure, there were laughs and good times,
but what good were they
when we feared that at any second
Mom would turn and her iron fist would drop
over something silly and senseless.








From the porch
I view other lives.
They jog on sidewalks
running from here to there.
They drive their cars was too fast
in a rush to get somewhere.
They walk in groups
fearful of being alone.
They act out
wanting the attention and to be noticed.
I don’t mind the sidelines.
It’s nice to stop and smell the flowers –
to stop and taste the coffee –
to stop and view the scenery.