Main Street, Slocanada, 13 June 2018

The clouds pack in and break apart.
The clouds pack in and break apart.
The street’s in shade; the street’s in sun
With cars and pedestrians, or few, or none.
One container on the porch holds caterpillars.
One is a miniature tadpole pond. One is a deep
Bucket serving as a well for chirping frogs.
A dead swallowtail floats, open-winged, inside.
The clouds pack in and break apart.
A small girl runs up the street to buy apples.
The tadpoles and frogs and caterpillars are hers.
The clouds pack in and break apart.
She runs through shade; she runs through sun.
Two middle-aged men with paunches and beards
Watch from the sidewalk, gossiping about nothing.
They spot an older man who lives half a block
From the liquor store leaving the liquor store,
Clutching a sizeable bottle of fancy gin.
They chuckle. Who will win? The small girl
Running all the way up the street and back
With her apples from the miniature grocery, or
The old man carefully, diagonally carrying
His gin? The girl has five or six times as far
To run and a transaction to complete inbetween,
But she’s quick and she’s young. The shorter
Of the two bearded, paunchy, middle-aged men
Bets on the fleet-footed, sandaled girl to win.
The taller man demurs. “Never bet against
An old man and his gin!” But he’s wrong.
The girl wins, flashing past her porch of creatures
With a small sack of red delicious in one hand,
Leaping through her screen door with a wave and a grin
Before the old man makes it all the way across his lawn.
The clouds break apart and pack in.