4597. HAVERFORD AND RUSH

HAVERFORD AND RUSH

The clotheslines of the poor seemed to stretch right

to the river  -  over the old fences, past the cars, and

into the wealth of weeds, water and muck. Some old

twisted grandpa-pole held each one into the ground.

I'd bet seventy-five years back at least, and then.

There were a few birds about  -  the ambling kind,

not the flyers. An egret and a heron, so far apart.

Along the banks, in a whisper of comfort, a old

washing machine was turned on its side and a

kid's red bicycle was long abandoned. The

swamp of circumstance was sweeping in.

Each clothes pole  -  at Haverford and

Rush  -  meant something to someone, 

and to someone so much.