On 16th Street,

Police sirens whine like toddlers,

Under the half-white half-blue sky.

On 16th Street,
Leaves pile up and become mini landfills on the ground,

Tennis balls like unclean dishes are scattered around,

In grassy fields you can hear ice,

That cracking sound.

On 16th Street,
Bitter leaves fall from sweet trees,

There’s lots of energy in small places,

Thinking, walking,

Familiar faces.

The sun is held hostage by the clouds,

The sound of people isn’t that loud.

Cottontails (nature’s corn dogs), and dandelions waft like twins through the air,

Everything has a right time and a right place somewhere.

So many things unnoticed,

Both large and petite.

But so many wonders,

On 16th Street.