Piddling around the kitchen on a rainy

Spring morning, washing the French press,

feeding the dogs

(Sam barking his megaphone bark and Peggy Sue prancing)

and lightly swaying to horns and drums on the

radio, thinking of birthday cakes

(store-bought or home-made?)

and loitering on a park bench with a view

of Isidore’s sculpture and rumbling streetcars

(a favorite spot)

among cake crumbs and milk

In May, an impending anniversary (smiles)

plans of lunch at Commander’s and

a melon martini (or two) then,

a leisurely waddle down Pyrtania among

the oaks and lacy ladies standing proud

on their lawns of green