The Grace of a Stick

By Roberta Curley

I use a cane. It’s a vital appendage.

I lean it against a table, 

and grab a seat in the al fresco section of the

Bus Stop Cafe (tantamount to people gazing on the Champs Elysees).

I spot leashed pups of indeterminate age tugging and peeing. The

scenario repeats. Pet/owner love consumes these constitutionals.

Infants rock to and fro, swathed in soft satchels on Dad or Mom’s chest. 

They all inhale the 11, 12 and 14A fumes as Abingdon Square guests.

Toddlers glom a ride of their lives from wheelie-strollers with unsurpassed 

panoramic views of historic West Village.

Older kids jump like manic lightning bugs as they screech for Mr. Frosty’s

ice cream at Bleecker Playground.

Teens bop, hop and flop as if protected by invisible electric rays. Their

Atlas-like gaits zig and zag like they’re playing forever-tag.

Adults possess diverse styles of walking. Though it’s not polite to stare, 

a quick analysis provides a mapping exercise of their future walkability. 

Many able-bodied adults and elders have zero mobility issues. 

Others require some form of assisted “crutch” to keep up. 

I use a cane—I walk deliberately and slow. 

Thanks for treading gently as together we go…