Posted: September 10, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

The town has a well groomed courthouse square
surrounded by uneven red brick streets.
Like most towns, 24 times a day,
the clock’s bell strikes the hour and old men check their watches,
As if they have places to go and appointments to keep.
But they sit on the green donated park benches
that have names engraved in brass.
Some whittle, some stuff their tobacco pipes
and some spit into throwaway cups.
And everyone knows the name of the town dog
that runs free, unchained but friendly,
That searches with wildly wagging tail,
sniffing at pant legs, pockets and shopping bags,
Everyone knows that in this town
only the police chief’s dogs are allowed to run free.
While the old men sit and whittle,
smoke their pipes and spit in throwaway cups.
And nervously check on appointments
that have never been made and they will never keep.


  1. Anonymous says:

    Old friends sit on the park bench like bookends…long ago, it must be, I saw a photograph; preserve your memories…
    This is wonderful.



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