“Step on a crack

Break your momma’s back.”

That’s what they’d chant,

All the kids on the block.

We’d go around on tiptoes

Avoiding the fractures;

Like walking on glass.

It meant so much to us,

The thought of mommy in pain.

Or maybe it was just a silly old game.

 

Doesn’t really matter now,

Does it?

We’re all adults,

We grew up fast.

All day every day

We walk right over those cracks.

Yet they’re not simply there

Might they mean something else?

Are we all blocks in a sidewalk?

Aren’t we all cracked?

 

Some of us are;

Certainly none are unblemished.

Others are stained

Weathered

Sticky with gum

Littered with dirt.

We all have some flaw

Hidden or not.

The sidewalk is no longer a play place;

The sidewalk is our own imperfect lives.