On Wilmingham Street

awwwwwwwwwh

He recognized himself by his hat:

            It was an old-fashioned hat:

                        Wide-rimmed and

                        Plaid-printed,

                        Like an early twentieth-century mobster would wear.

He wasn’t a mobster, though,

Was a simple businessman,

Who owned his own corner shop

On Wilmingham Street

And sold five-dollar souvenirs and

Fifty-cent postcards

To anyone who cared to buy.

 

She was a customer at his shop every Sunday and

She recognized him by his smile:

            It was an old-fashioned smile:

                        Cutely crooked and

                        Flustered,

                        Like a fifteen-year-old boy would wear.

He wasn’t a boy, though,

Was a man,

Who made her smile every Sunday

On Wilmingham Street

And quickened her heart and sold her

Fifty-cent postcards,

With which she adorned her walls.

 

Reviews

[Brenda Sue]

I love the imagery in this piece. Beautifully penned. Great job.

[An Ordinary Woman]

Well dang it this is just sweet. It made me smile to think there are good people like him and trusting people like her ... maybe the world isn't such a bad place after all. this was a delightful read...

[Dressed in Poetry]

It is worthy of "awwww"s. I like the parallelism.