Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Tree Streets Yard Sale

I figure three and a half, maybe four miles of sidewalk.

Enough used clothes to bedeck all the poor of China,

Mongolia excluded, but so many shoes that

No one should be barefooted in this area again.

The Tree Streets Yard Sale.

Gewgaws, gimcracks, tchotchkes, knick-knacks,

DVDs, LPs, CDs, books, 8-tracks and reading

Material to last a lifetime, music included.

Tacos, tacos, tacos (q.v. “El Cazador de la Bruja”)

Burritos, kettle corn, cold drinks, sweets abound.

A young girl playing a violin; a young man, a banjo.

Cases open for tips and actually getting some –

They’re both quite good. Tree Streets.

Old hippies ruddy and sleek, young hippies in overalls.

College students with flipflops, all so part of it.

A red cat watching from a porch, assorted dogs

Outnumbered by little kids on their natural high.

Big wrenches, little wrenches, hammers and nails.

Old boats, new skis, a top hat and tails.

People pulling red wagons to stash their loot.

Once a year. That’s a good thing. Tree Streets

Yard Sale.

 

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