Sunday, August 21, 2016

8546. ALL THOSE EARS

ALL THOSE EARS
My mother had a bread-man named
'Sarge'. He'd come every few days,
leaving whatever he left  -  a loaf,
or some cupcakes or anything else
joyous to kids. He'd say 'I won't
loaf with my loaves, so you never
have to wait.' No, not really,
I made that up. He never really
talked to me, except kid stuff.
Up and down the block, like a 
monkey-addled serviceman,
he'd stop and talk to all the
ladies on the route. It was 
all too weird to understand,
in some 1957 way. They'd
let him in, and he'd babble
like an old woman. This
and that; nothing real,
just this and that.

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