I would be roadkill if it wasn't for you.
The street lights in the neighborhood were never safe.
Red meant stop and green meant go,
but no matter how long you stood,
red would stare dead at you,
never changing.
When can I walk across?
When is it safe?
If I dip a toe onto the street would the car stop?
How do I know?
The streets were so jagged and confusing it was a lost to who turns right and who's turn was it to walk.
But you.
You grabbed my hand and showed me the ropes.
You lived there much longer than me so I should know.
It didn't matter if the green would never appear,
it didn't matter how many cars drove by in a millisecond.
"When it's safe, you walk."