Here's a poem from some notes I made earlier in the week while I sat in the car beside Green Lake, having an apple and cheese and watching some all-weather exercisers. The last line I'd say is kind of a tip of the hat to my grandma.
Their raingear reflects headlights
and wicks moisture away
from their bodies. They follow
yellow arrows to miss bikes
and rollerblades, but nobody’s
on wheels today but babies,
strollers covered in plastic
like hairdos of careful ladies.