Back Alley Stroll

staircase and garbage cans in front of a brick building

the alley is lined with pallet composters,

filled with this fall’s dumping

of flowers and trailing vines; a series of uniform

black plastic bins,

and ubiquitous overhead wires—

this is where we live

collectively, and individually

monotone garage doors framed with suspect cameras

suggest a wealth of items under wraps,

despite a hazard of things

left out

a blue chair—decked with dust—leans

against slabs of unused shingles,

a borrowed traffic sign, plus

gently used items marked “free” for anyone wanting

to fix a bike, clean a stroller,

polish off the paint

everywhere, fragments of stories appear at odds

with the frontage, prove irresistible,

become the reason why some of us walk here,


wondering at the declaration of trust in a side of life

that tends to thrive out back, content

with the unfinished

this poem appears in my book Quiet Waters

Published by Dayna E. Mazzuca

Contemplative Christian Poet, Author & Speaker

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