Where the Sidewalk is Closed

Nineteen-seventy-four, Shel wrote,
Of sidewalk’s end, a curious note,
Chalky paths that puzzled folks back then,
Now stretch on with arrows drawn by pen.

Fifty years have passed, and here we stand.
Gazing where the white lines sweep the land,
Peppermint winds blow soft and so slow,
Kids once walked, dreams that seemed to grow.

Look—a sign now halts the winding way,
“Sidewalk Closed,” it shouts in bold dismay.
Adults pause, confused, their minds askew,
What they knew as kids, no longer true.

The path’s not gone, just barred from our sight,
Chalk and breeze still whisper through the night,
Shel’s old tale lives on in strange new hue,
Sidewalks shift, and wonder shifts there too.