SenileSociety.

Walking to that place
I call a home,
I slump down a sidewalk.
Leaves, crunching and yellow,
are strewn across gritty cement.
I walk past trash lining
the street and see
an old woman
back bowed and joints aching
raking up leaves.
There are no young backs,
strong legs and arms of zeal,
to do this
for her.

I, as young
as I am,
kept walking.