Connecticut is a strange state. Rather than having counties as the seat of government, here we stick to the 169 towns which originally made up the state, many begun in colonial times. This means that there is great disparity between adjacent towns. A very wealthy town can butt up against one with great poverty. I live in such a town–the poorer one–and take note of the differences. In the next town over, people walk for exercise and ride bikes with their kids for fun. In my town, people walk many places and what bikes there are carry adults to work or stores. The following poem comes from my observations of the many people who walk by my house every day.
Here we walk to get somewhere.
We long for the day we can drive,
Park right at the store,
Load our trunks to overflowing.
Instead we buy what our arms can carry
From overpriced stores within reach,
Dropping used scratch-it tickets–
Our one hope of transport–
Like crumbs along our way home.