Old man Jenkins plays a mean game of checkers,
Always grousin' about that cheatin' dog Beckers.
According to Jenkins, he sourly states,
That’s somethin' he down rightly hates.
Though old man Beckers swears up and down,
That it’s the other way around.
But there they sit every Saturday morn,
Playin' their game in true competitor’s form.
The Kerby girls takin’ a break from the heat,
Sit on the shady curb by their feet.
Watchin’ them bicker thinkin’ it’s sweet,
Makin’ bets who’ll be the first to cheat.
The fire marshal takes pity on the lil’ mites
Turnin’ on the water-hydrant, the local coolin’ site.
Kids creepin’ out like lil’ sprouts,
Comin’ to play as the water pumps out.
The two checker champs envy the young,
Pokin’ at the other with a sharp tongue.
Callin’ each other a fartin' old fool,
But still secretly wishin’ they could get cool.
Gossipin’ like old-timers sometimes do,
Distractin’ the other swappin' a checker or two.
Parents always know where their kids will be,
Eating supper at home like a happy family.
The sidewalks roll up at night by seven,
The curfew makes the town a safe heaven.
This is my home I’m proud to say,
Just another small town USA.