Written by: Andrew Crisci

We look at them as simpler times
living in the days of a century ago:
street noise, clothes and sheets on the lines,
children playing ball, moms rolling bread dough.

There are no cars and horse buggies,
no vendors that jell and wake babies;
in one of the buildings husband and wife rant,
not hearing the landlord's voice demanding rent.

Bill who lives on the third floor was the captain of an oil ship,     
has left his pipe in the ashtray and spade cards and taken a nap
so tired of having read all noon a pile of novel and fiction books;
with half bottle of whiskey in his guts, he sleeps but licks his lips.