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by Connie K Walle
Aunt Jean cooks pancakes shaped
like gingerbread men with raisin eyes.
Daddy and Morey tie on the gear
to their lines and step into hip waders.
Breakfast over, the kids run outside to play.
I hung around the kitchen in the guise
of drying dishes to listen to the gossip.
Charlotte had her baby. 9lbs 10 oz. what a whopper!
Named him Charles after his daddy. The Murray's
are fine. Tom still walks down to the "office" every day.
Then someone drives him home when he is too
drunk to walk back.
I get my book out of the car, crawl into the big
rocker on the front porch. As the women drone on
and the men ass-deep in the river think up their lies
about the one which will get away, I open A Tree Grows
in Brooklyn and slip quietly into another world.