He explains that the
chirping crosswalk signal
is meant to help the blind.
We are paused on a corner,
in the dusk of sundown,
in fading light.   We step
off the curb, disregard
the fact that the signal
tells us not to cross.
Was I blind?  the hand is
red, palm open like high five,
stop, don’t cross,  and
I am faltering, quick steps
uneven, teetering in heels,
I realize we’ve stopped traffic.
His stride doesn’t change,
has the unapologetic gait
of confidence and age.
You wouldn’t dare hit
Fred Chappell, crossing the street.