Every Monday Looks the Same
The smell of yeasty calories from Kennedy's Bakery wafts through theair of a Monday morning downtown; someone carries a sugar high
to a meeting about last week when none was listening and probably won't today either.
A man on the street smiles and waves at someone else;
subscribe to that friendly home town atmosphere, if you have a name and moldy money.
Courthouse clock tells time but says nothing about the
dirty business it has seen over the last hundred years.
and the lawn sprinklers come on even though it rained all weekend.
Shop owners sweep off the sidewalks, keys jangling from their wrists like wind chimes and sling up the open sign, knowing full well
that the biggest sale of the day will be from someone just traveling through.
Trap a tourist, make a buck.
Someone tends the petunia baskets hanging from the light poles
while the bank sign flashes sixty eight degrees, and
come on in for that nine percent loan you can't afford.
They don't care; they'll be happy just to tell you no but
while you're here, open a checking account and get a free toaster
and your kid can get a sucker for looking cute.
Coffee house brewing in full swing, the cappuccino
machines hiss and the book store owner gets her thrill for the day.
Cops roll by looking for that one early morning traveler
who has a crooked licence plate or who drives two miles
over the posted limit or maybe a jay walker that will get him his five minutes of fame.
Have to make the funds to build that new courthouse you know.
Car dealership downtown has their slicked up employees
sliding into another commission based day,
knowing full well ain't a soul in this town got money to
buy anything, but the banks will lend away, to make a little interest
til the payments slack and they repo it.
Plenty of attorneys here, if you're in trouble and need one.
Florists set out their prized pots and a music store cranks up the
piano tunes to tempt anyone that might have a thing for music passing their window.
Shop after dusty shop of antiques to browse if you have the time;
take a peek into how we used to live, if you aren't so involved in a day to day struggle.
Listen to those birds; they couldn't care less that it's Monday..
everyday looks the same to them.
Poetry by barbie
Read 756 times
Written on 2006-07-27 at 03:59
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