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Tuesday, August 02, 2011


by Earl J. Wilcox

Every morning about daybreak I stroll
to the street to pick up my newspaper.
Today I hear rare voices: children playing--
laughter, giggles and squeals echoing
through tall pines---yet it is not sunrise.

As many of my neighbors are elderly,
like me, most outside voices I hear daily
are gripes and groans, grousing across
hedges or driveways.  Complaints
of the aging.  I glance up and down

the street. No children. Only Martha
in her gown, Jim in his flimsy robe
scolding his ancient Dachshund
watering Martha’s marigolds. Paper
in hand, I wave aimlessly at someone.

Going back up my driveway once again
I hear gleeful children playing. I smile
to myself, savor every radiant, rippling
syllable. News of war and my baseball
team’s puny playing will wait for later.

Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.