Changing The Sidewalk

by Christine Adams Beckett

“So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and gives life to thee.”
From Sonnet XVIII
by, William Shakespeare

Unsteadily upright,
A white-pated man
Awaited to shuffle across
The intersection. One hand
On a button, shakily
pushed for a pedestrian
Crossing, the other rested casually
On his jutted, arthritic hip,
Exposing the underbelly
Of his hand, his palm,
Flawless and juxtaposed
Next to his exhausted body.

His bowled legs,
Barely able to support
His aged body, met the ground
In blindingly white tennis shoes
With velcro straps, draped
In an easy-fitting
Geriatric uniform:
Khaki pants, zippered
Wind breaker, suggesting
His hands now have
Proven themselves as
Cumbersome during
His daily dressing.

His profile, grey and golden,
Illuminated by autumnal
Afternoon sun, proved useless
To warm his
Cardiovascular conundrums.
The whole of his body
Trembled, weary
From a lifetime of
Crossing busy streets.

Yet the un-calloused hand,
Pristine and smooth, once
Undertook the gentler and
More sensual of tasks:
Childhood sculpting of
Hand-made clay,
Caressing the skin of
A young lover, Cupping the
Open-fontanelled skull of
A newborn infant; a touch,
A neuro-pathway,
A motor sensory memory
Of realized youthful pleasure,
Unchecked and unspoiled
By a lifetime of hard-earned
Changes.