Old Cahaba road

creeps between the garden and the zoo.

Ill lit except for the grand entrances

halfway down the road, like a beacon,

but it’s pitch black until and after.

My little flashlight is dull against the dark

and my eyes unable to define elevation changes

between the flagstones that are pushed up

by thirsty willows and runaway oaks.

I’m sure to trip and fall, alone, on dark Cahaba road

where I would feel the cold cement against my hands

and a thousand eyes on me

but it’s only my imagination

because no one is there?

I keep my quick pace except for a spin or two

to look behind and up

as the mighty trees’ overreaching canopies

drop nut and acorn to the street.

Not at me? (I have my suspicions)

Oh, the creaks and groans from inside the garden gates,

how loud the sound of a solitary leaf falling

from its limb!

The sounds follow me down Cahaba road.

Maybe a spirit follows me,

not a malcontent,

but an old friend making sure I arrive safely home.