Any Given Summer Day


Books in hand, Nancy and I walked
to the library at Military and Park,
and noted things along the way.
Bud’s corner grocery where most
everybody charged ‘til payday and Bud
gave dads a bag of candy for the kids.
Liba lived in the next block. She was Jewish
and her mom didn’t speak English. We
loved to go there, listen to Liba play the
piano while we sang and her mom smiled.
A man raised rabbits in hutches by the garage
and my dad bought them for mom to fry.
They tasted like chicken.
Miss Sorenson, the children’s librarian
ran a tight ship. No nonsense. Check ’em in,
check ’em out. Quiet, please.
Nancy Drew for  Nancy, The Boxcar Children
for me.
We left, a goal in mind. Nancy’s dad
worked at the Vienna Bakery. A knock on
the alley door, a sweet roll for each. At
the end of the alley on a bench in front of the
Fremont Hatchery we enjoyed our treat and
watched the world go by.
Slowly walking along Sixth Street toward home we
began to read our books, sensing an intersection,
hearing a car, finishing our books in the swing on
Nancy’s front porch.
Some days we made two trips to the library.


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