Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,
Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off
Before it has a chance to go two blocks,
At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there,
Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.

Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps-
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all-more of a football type.

Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact, the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred ninety points,
A county record still. The ball loved Flick.
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.

He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway.
His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.

Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods
Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers
Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.

Halloween was always one of my
Favorite nights of the year,
Although the waiting was torturous
As the date drew near.

What to wear? was always the question.
Not rich enough to be trendy,
We put together makeshift costumes,
And Dad would always pretend he

Didn't have enough money
To spend on fancy treats.
"Besides," he said, "my theory
Is basically sweets are sweets."

We didn't have Darth Vader back then;
Kids were pirates and cats,
Skeletons, hobos, cowboys and Indians,
Devils, witches, and bats.

Mummies, scarecrows, fairies, clowns--
Whatever we could devise.
Many kids were simply ghosts
In sheets with holes for eyes.

Ah, the treats: chocolate coins,
Cookies, Milky Ways,
Popcorn *****, candy corn,
Necco Wafers for days,

Abba-Zabas, Tootsie Rolls,
Bubble gum cigars,
Licorice, Candy cigarettes,
And Snickers candy bars.

We got Double Bubble in packs,
Taffy, Cup-O-Gold,
Milk Duds, Jujifruits--
A mountain of treats all told.

The experts had TWO costumes
And made the rounds twice,
As if one giant bag of candy
Was never going to suffice.

Back at home we'd pour out our candy,
And then the bartering started.
Since I had two older brothers,
I was usually outsmarted.

Mom and Dad let us monitor
Our own candy stash,
And we survived the candy feast
Without a sugar crash.

Until I was fourteen years of age,
I'd never had a cavity,
Despite living in Candyland
In utter sugar depravity.

But I can still eat candy now
And not go trick-or-treating,
Though, granted, there are more nutritious
Foods that I should be eating.

- by Bob B

When I was three, I was a criminal.
I was a shoplifter and a thief.
I would crawl out of a window with broken glass in the pane, and run the streets.

At three.

I was a runaway and a rebel.
I loved car lots and the grease-covered back doors of local cafes and diners.
I would pocket a roll of Necco Wafers faster than you could blink,
Then hide inside used cars to sleep off the sugar coma.

At three.

When I was three, I was a mean little thief in stylish red cowboy boots.


© 2012 Michael Hunter

I get too attached
I loved her so much
I wish I could be with her always
To give her hugs
All the hugs
To stargaze
And stay up until three just talking
To lie in a hammock eating
hot Cheetos and necco wafers
And to share secrets and problems
like they are nothing
To experiment with makeup
And to watch her fall asleep
in the bunk next to me
To sit in understanding silence
To hold my hand
Even sometimes sharing pants
To laugh about the boys we chase
To slowly watch her walk away
The best friend I've ever known
Has gone and left me all alone.