If you could be there
with the rest, coming out
of Vernondale’s store
carrying bags
in late spring, and if,
looking far down the road
where the white houses waver
in heat, you could see
for the first time
since winter, old Hunt,
the crippled man, walking
by not quite falling
down first on one side,
then on the other
holding aloft the bony
wing of his cane,
you would understand why
they have stopped
on the porch by the sign
that says Yes We Are Open
without knowing
where they are
going, or what it is
they hold in their hands.
– Wesley McNair