Poetry Pole

I first saw these little installations in Portland a couple years ago. People construct displays of varying complexity, and post poems for passersby to read. This one is here in my neighborhood. I love the little sloping roof and the chimney. I mean to keep tabs on it and watch for a new poem.

My walk tonight was strange--I was so struck with the fact that no one else was out. It's a lovely evening, not windy or chilly. I was out for maybe 45 minutes and only saw one person walking a dog. No children, no neighbors gossiping. No children. It's a summer night. Don't kids play any more? Even I, fairly solitary, couldn't bear to go in when my mother blew the whistle for me to come home. It was a literal whistle, blue and yellow plastic, and I knew the sound well. It saved her voice from yelling for me, and I was surprised to find years later that other mothers didn't use whistles. Anyway, the point was that we were out running around, playing I don't know what games, riding bikes, running, hiding, plotting, constructing our lives.