Morning in Watertown, Noon on Quincy Street – John Repp

Morning in Watertown, Noon on Quincy Street

Green banana, three beeswax candles puddled on the bookcase,

bodega at the end of the block, tenor sax billowing from the east,

shoulder-length hair frizzy from the shower, anything you could

conceivably want a block north/Three cabinets of curiosities here,

two bookstores there, Mr. & Mrs. Bartely’s & the original Bob Slate

Stationers straight ahead, what a walk to the train & back! Here sits

her car. What’s with the Wellesley parking sticker? The jammed-full

pack on the back seat? Surely she no longer needs a car, so maybe

she sold it to a neighbor or gave it to a new man or a friend in need.

After all, her generosity has long been legendary. I’ll bet she likes 

the noodle shop new since I last knew her. Who am I talking to? I always

wonder like this, especially in a calm present tense that by its nature

evades consequence. Easy to be good, especially on an April Tuesday 

strolling the border between curiosity & whatever this hovering

speculation signifies. Not regret. Not sorrow. Certainties do exist.

Maybe a story of how many stories remain possible. Is that the best

you can do, oh narrator who may or may not be relied upon? A warm

muffin is much more nourishing, the hike to Porter Square even more so.

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