01-06-2016, 12:04 PM
Palmer Park
Always a paper bag tucked in Grandma’s sideboard
where she saved hard crusts of bread.
For those days when all of the money was spent,
and it meant Grandpa was home
full of undiluted energy
and he’d take me for a walk to Palmer Park.
Five long blocks of countless cracks
and somewhere along the way
the houses got bigger, fatter
with pillared porches, guarded
by lions or giant stone pots,
overflowing with store-bought geraniums.
At the park, we’d sit side by side
on a sunny bench and divide the tidbits
from Grandma’s paper bag.
Take turns tossing overhand arches
of bread gone hard and good for aiming
to feed the smaller ducks and little birds.
Burnt toast, stale saltines,
and popovers leftover
after the roast was gone. . .
Always a paper bag tucked in Grandma’s sideboard
where she saved hard crusts of bread.
For those days when all of the money was spent,
and it meant Grandpa was home
full of undiluted energy
and he’d take me for a walk to Palmer Park.
Five long blocks of countless cracks
and somewhere along the way
the houses got bigger, fatter
with pillared porches, guarded
by lions or giant stone pots,
overflowing with store-bought geraniums.
At the park, we’d sit side by side
on a sunny bench and divide the tidbits
from Grandma’s paper bag.
Take turns tossing overhand arches
of bread gone hard and good for aiming
to feed the smaller ducks and little birds.
Burnt toast, stale saltines,
and popovers leftover
after the roast was gone. . .