Poetry Friday: Mile Marker

Mile Marker

I used to see her nearly every day,

the woman who walked alongside the busy roadway.

Short, wiry, and late middle-aged,
with a grim look on her face.
Each time I drove past her,
I wondered why it was she walked so hard and so long.

I always slowed my car,
not wanting to kick up dust
in her path.  But she took
no notice of the traffic,

just walked and walked and walked,
miles and miles in one direction,
miles and miles straight back.
I never knew where.

It occurred to me the other day
that I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her.

It occurred to me the other day
how long the list grows

of the things we pass by

and the things

that we miss.