Saturdays of Past

Emily Curle
EVWP Summer 2009


On any given Saturday,
In the heat of summer
When I was young,
I would journey with my father
To his place of work.

On any given Saturday,
I would notice the cold stone floors
That looked like black and copper pebbles
Pressed smooth.

On any given Saturday,
I would sit in the open room
Eating my mid-afternoon treat
Of a big flat hamburger with ketchup;
The kind from a walk-up stand
That no longer exists.

On any given Saturday,
I would sit while he worked
On what looked to me like drawings
Of a mixed-up game of tic-tac-toe
With too many players.

On any given Saturday,
I would sit and listen
As the wind from a noisy fan
Quenched the humid, sluggish air.

On any given Saturday,
I would feel the breeze
And close my eyes, content
Just to be.