Third Generation

Third Generation The old man in the square sells trinkets and balloons when he has got enough money to buy a little dream and he enters the market town’s only saloon. By the bar thinks of his lemon selling father who had a mule that had white as a duckling’s plume, and fruit as yellow as only Gunter Grass can paint them. Remembers his grandfather a cobbler who walked around town with a sack of promises given to him by people who were never around on pay day. Every Christmas he opened the sack and let broken promises fly up in the air and forever disappear, liars and cheats should not feel guilty of telling fibs. Outside the old man’s balloons had flown away, free of strings filled the air with jubilation like errant people who had once again been let off the catch.