Dave Bonta's poem is a string of ten tiny snapshots, each one a moment someone might notice on a walk beside a canal. A blister from sandals, light flickering on steel girders, geese guarding their lone gosling, pigeons queuing behind a supermarket: nothing dramatic happens, and that's the point. The speaker simply watches, and the poem trusts small details to carry it.
The mood is quietly amused and observant. Some images are funny, like the pirate flag leading gnomes and potted plants, or the deaf dog who can be found by the bicycle bells ringing around her. Others hint at a changing landscape: a giant drill for a future high-speed train, and a scrapyard sign promising an "end-of-life destination" for cars. The speaker doesn't comment on these, but the contrast between old and new, slow and fast, sits there for us to notice. Overall the feeling is of attentive, unhurried affection for an ordinary place.