Rhythms
At ten o'clock, this quiet Sunday morning,
While taking a relaxed walk through downtown,
In red shorts, white socks, blue running shoes,
My bare chest absorbing the warmth,
I notice everything's closed, save the Presbyterian church,
Ole's Country Store, Rose's Bakery, Bridge's Tavern.
Two enterprising seagulls are cleaning up the streets,
Feasting on a smorgasbord of July Fourth's leftovers.
I stop at the auditorium door,
To read the posted winners and times of yesterday's race,
Then resume my leisurely pace, going, going.
The village's peaceful rhythms own me.
07/05/09 - (2)
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