The Old Neighborhood

My druggist, my barista,
My barber, my cleaners,
My newsstand, my bake shop…
I moved…
Three blocks south,
And an avenue east,
To a new zip code,
And lost my people.
No same faces,
I move amid strangers.
These aren’t my people…
Not yet.
But in time, folks in the new neighborhood
Will fall victim
To my proprietorship over them,
And will then become…
My doctor, my dentist, my deli man, my florist…
My people.