Put it in a clear plastic bag and put pressure on it
You see the needle turn.
A barometer.
An eight year old’s curiosity, another way to read the weather.
Hanging on my wall I haven’t looked at for years.
I read the barometer, the weather, on my watch.
And I don’t unless someone is coming to stay.
When you come from L.A. Thames is a tiny place full of curiosity.
The famous grandson from ‘over there’ is real. Here he is,
Patiently standing beside adults, the women
Huddled about old china, new ceramics, artists, styles
“I’ve got…”
I am not eight but eighty. I have learned that the more a piece is
Huddled about, whispered over
The less likely it is to be used.
Just treasured.
Along the road and past the chatter of reunited holiday families,
A shop of new and used clothing, guitars, whistles music scores,
And long-ago purchased books, cherished, moved from house to house.
A page is turned. A box, surplus to needs is donated.
Price, one dollar? Negotiate and for two dollars –
