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WHISTLING SHADE |
He bought big for the family, cratesful
peaches from the wholesaler,
meat from the butcher in blood-stained apron.
I followed him up the steps,
watched him bargain, the good-natured
barbs, a way to be with him.
He relished the give and take of it,
the basic transaction of commerce,
I have what you need.
About my street, he’d think, what a waste,
pots of flowers at the door of the boutique,
and who needs an olive oil shop?
He’s come back in the easiest
way I knew him, making small deals,
at ease in the world.
What he had to teach me took hold
though I wanted more.
I walk the street, cheerful and suspicious
as he was, wondering what nefarious
deed shut down the restaurant,
leaving the tables set,
napkins fanned like swans
swimming a white sea.