I will bow to poetic license for Godfrey, for he knew I would wet myself seeing a cougar on our street..the shy and majestic cats how ever, oft find them selves cornered in the neighborhoods about….
Cougar Nearby!! Out on the sidewalk- gun a wary, see nervous the kneeling cop. Where the guts of what once was an urban deer lie, entrails in the posh neighborhood, lock up the poodle dogs- Cougar nearby!
Cool of morning or early eve, they move so quickly, did you see ?, along the fence rail?, just a tan blur, very long, thick tail. Skinny cat, young and bewildered, wanders forest of narrow streets, rests in public park after he eats, hunkered down, safe in the brush from hunter and hound. In the poshest neighborhood hear the cry! Lock up the Chihuahua, cougar nearby!
Roll On Wharf Street- Deft wee paws lift the rubbish bin lid, over the top. Masked rascal, city raccoon at the bus stop. Drags the garbage bag along Wharf Street, Crows, Seagulls, Rodents and more Coons, everybody eat!. I walk up-town lest the bin man see. (Short Handed Dupree, he is cranky) the carnage spread about, and shout at me.
And at the same bus stop, met up with old “Dot”, famous long ago for her trucker’s cafe’. She passed it to her daughter, the wisdom her old Ma, and Ma’s Ma had taught her.When the four lane highway came, it swept the old truck stop trailer away…there’s a fancy new place, but they talk of Dot’s still-“Was best burger, pie, chips and gravy in Parksville”. I worry for Dot, with her cart, watching snow geese and ducks heading south from impending cold, tough as she is, this street is no place for a fine, fry cook to grow old.
Mrs Williams- We call her,” Mrs Williams”, oft seen riding the #50 bus. She has been reading the same book for years, never looks up from it, no matter how crowded, knows her stop by heart, gets off same one as us. The book is covered by neat, brown paper, tucked tween her purse, and business suit lap, she reads the book over and over, and next week on the bus ride, reads it again. Worzel reckons-” Mrs Williams” is a naughty librarian…I would talk to anyone, talk of any thing but beets…perhaps one day if I can, will discuss books with Wharf Streets Naughty Librarian…
Coho Ferry- Ruggedy ship of grey and red, always on time, she will not wait, rumbles off in summer, several trips a day, over the water to Washington State. I had never ridden on The Black Ball Ferry, not ridden it yet- but recall when she took out the float plane dock, as close to disaster as Coho could get. We were watching “Coronation Street”, Worzel and I, we heard a crunching sound, a warning cry. I thought a roller skater, had fallen on his head, looked out the window, in case the chap was dead.
Purple prose, from the ferry deck arose, words lacking couth, like “Fez” “Shice”, and “Holy Fock Tooth”. Down below our window high, the wayward Coho drifted by. Off out the harbor, we watched her go, foul language and dock planks in ships wake churned- back to our T.V. show we turned, Slibber Sauce, not on our evening dare intrude, rough sailing for The Coho, dramatic interlude.
Miss Emily’s Statue- Monkey, Woo, on your shoulder, Griffon Dog at oddly shod brass feet..A statue of you is insensitively placed, near a posh hotel, foot of Wharf Street. There was darkness, humor, sorrow, genius, in your eccentricity. Instead of facing ivy covered walls, I wish your statue was not misspelled, and had been placed facing forest and sea. We fossicked about, in the tall grass, the wild part, of the old cemetery….and in the wind, sat back neath the summer skies you painted, in the wind we lay back, to hear your poetry.