~RUSS KESLER~

FROM A FIFTIES CHILDHOOD

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The noon whistle started with a groan
and rose to a howl.

Dogs rolled out of sleep
to stretch and bark at shadows.

Some people sat to ham and cherry pies,
some drew up to cornbread and cold greens.

The whistle sat atop the water tower
where the town's name shimmered in the sun.

The sound filled every street and house.
The time was noon, the day was every day.
 
 

© by Russ Kesler