Walking to Another Life

by Greg McBride

I took a different route a few blocks over
and came upon a neighbor I didn’t know.
She strolled, leash in hand, an unleashed vibrance
in her step, yet an easy style in holding
to the road the way my wild yet tethered
grasses sway their splendid plumes. I asked
about her dog, a Pembroke Corgi,
a well–groomed little guy.

We started to chat, as neighbors do
when chance aligns and there is time.
I felt no tension such as often comes
when male meets female, man admiring,
woman pleased, yet guarded. She made sure
to say how much her fifteen–year old boy
loves the dog. A small and aged man,
I took as sly flattery that it might occur
to her that I could harbor designs.
She could be my granddaughter.

But I must admit, her presence roused
those stirrings felt sixty years ago,
when a fetching teenaged girl moved in
next door. My neighbor and I crossed
paths again another happy day,
and our conversation turned to novels
and public policy. And by then, I was
in love.
Perhaps a bit sly myself, I said,
“I hope that if we meet in another life
we’ll be closer in age and you’ll accept
my invitation to dinner.” “How sweet
of you,” she said, “but I think there will be
no other life for us. I’m happy in this one,
as I hope for all good men such as yourself.”
My inchoate hopes for new life dashed
again, I said, “And how kind of you
to appear to me in this one.”