Well outside my circle,
Beyond my paltry reach
Of influence,
Nasty, spinsterly, unforgiveables
Happen.
Across from The Farmer's Market,
Just two days ago,
Two young males were...
You've no doubt read it.
Before that, a young teacher
Was kidnapped, stabbed and lit,
(can't believe I just wrote that)
Well, she was ******* lit... burned...
Who can live like this?
Then, I remember Tom's mother
Who invited me on family picnics;
And Crazy Jack,
Who put the chain on my rear sprocket;
The Squires who actually cleaned-up the yard
For the Downie sisters.
The befriendings in neighborhoods.
Mrs. Tethercott, probably the oldest woman
To ever live on a street, once handed me
A hard red candy through the green pickets.
Just me. The sibs never saw it going or coming.
An especially special treat that has stuck with me
For decades after her death.
But the Mayor arriving in full Santa regalia
On the trunk of a sleigh-red car,
With burlap bag slung heavily.
What a first memory of Christmas.
Daddy burned his leg
With diesel oil
On the job site,
Far away, in Kapuskasing,
During our first winter
In Canada.
Did the Downie Spinsters make the call?
What unknown friends reached out
Beyond their circles.
Who aspires to such a height?
I can't let it stop me.
For now,
I carry a hard candy
For just such occasions.
