IT'S A WINDFALL
When the bakery burned down
it smelled so good. It must have
seemed like a a windfall in Florence.
The parapets were filled with people,
I guess watching, but maybe just
taking in the aroma. Thus Bakery
Crisps were born. Nine months
later, the town was a 'swarm.
-
I stood idly by, watching the old
trains; listening to whistles and
seeing the old hotel. It was white
with peeling-paint clapboard sides.
Of the sort one seldom see these
days. No siding, no plastic; but
no residents either.
-
The outside matron of the Summer
Camp, I noticed, was flattening cereal
boxes. How curious, I thought; those
40 or so kids, romping and crafting,
with their canoes and peddle-boats
too. There was a line of rope they'd
ride, over the lake and woodland
at the other shore. It looked like
fun, but I wasn't sure.
No comments:
Post a Comment