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Poem

The August's heat wave made streets sizzle,
in the fifties there was no air conditioning;
can we imagine the frustrutating feeling 
that made bodies and minds very feeble? 

Summer was fun on that noisy Mulberry Street,
no traffic went through it: such a sad downbeat;
how happy were the kids that couldn't help screaming,
getting wet in a large pool of water that was refreshing. 

Blame that rascal kid that opened the firehydrant,
nobody went to school and mothers seemed moody;
some vendors were mad, but watching was so groovy...
they weren't nagging and enjoyed the scene with interest.

My books lay on the stoop, splashing water made them slide  
nom brought them in giving me a naughty and disapproving look... 
even she realized that's another silly excuse for me not to hide,
dipping bread into her delicious gravy while dad sliced the snook.


Copyright ( c ) 20017 by Andrew Crisci

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