Treadmill

A poem

Photo by Augusto Navarro on Unsplash

She learned to walk unflinchingly
through the Thirties, so 
she chose the moving sidewalk lane
that looked like a treadmill,
quickening her pace to gain ground.

Looking up, she saw others
striding toward her with ease, 
and the mistake was plain.
She could have turned around right then,
ridden the belt to the edge, and switched lanes,
but she had never learned how to survive that way,
so she made her face go blank,
marching straight through the others,
who parted, mystified, all the way.
It was slow going, and she had to walk
much faster than she liked,
but she finally touched down on the other side
and walked away.

She was a woman who had seen worse,
showing an entire concourse in Denver
how it was done in her day.