Median

I was driving home from walking my dog at the park and stopped at a light.

There in the median was a man and a woman

bundled in scarves and coats for the cold.

She wore her hijab, the wind blowing it over her eyes.
At first , I sadly didn’t pay much attention,

being American at the end of the day,

unable to not fall to what all American’s fall prey to –

becoming callously used to people in medians with their hands out

especially in populated areas.
Suddenly a quick motion from their direction alerted me

that the woman held the hand of a small baby,

so small the child was barely able to stand on their own.
The mother jerked the baby but he pulled back,

dangling dangerously close to the cars coming to a stop .
That got my attention.
I looked around thinking surely someone had called
the police.

Should I? Would that help or hurt the situation?

Is it the police you’re supposed to call?

If not, who else?

There were days I wouldn’t have questioned this.

In my younger days, my rebel days, I would have been the person

someone called…

The light changed.

I slowly drove by them.
Cop car lights flickered coming up behind
me in the rear view, stopping next to the couple.

Someone else had called.
I hoped they could get the family some resources
I hoped no one separated them.
Even while I hoped it, I knew it was foolish.

There’d likely be help for the baby

but not so much for the parents.
I wondered how we got into these baby-in-the-median days
and if we’ll ever go back to the discarded papers cups

or fast food bags in the median ones.
Better yet, just wildflowers.
Will we ever just see wildflowers blowing in the breeze

as we make our way wherever we think we have to go?