Repost from August 2014
A is for the acknowledgement, in a hello or a glance or a nod, that we both live here, you and I. You are the fellow dog owner, the skateboard commuter, the homophobic street minister, the young sister not playing fair, the father recovering from a stroke, the runner, the elderly woman with the always empty grocery cart.
V is for vice, evidence left behind in melting paletas puddles, condom wrappers, and rawhide bone fragments on the sidewalk.
O is for the dissonant ovation of chirping birds, buzzing flies, and Kennedy traffic punctuated with a crack-bang-boom when there’s something, or nothing, to celebrate.
N is for nonchalance in the strut of the wayward rooster, the gaze of the sovereign shepherd, and the sway of the stars and stripes on their poles.
D is for the dispassionate houses of shingle and brick that stand sentinel against those…
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