August 16, 2013

• Appointments

  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,
  Searching 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.

  E.

   

  • 3:55 am
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