The Corner Store

It was because of the season – the proprietor said
On fifth street, just one block from where I stand,
three people died, all within steps of one another

An old woman nodded sagely
Just beyond the awning it had begun to hail
small round drops of ice hit the cement with emphasis

And don’t forget Mrs.…what’s her name?
The daughter of the woman who owns the sewing shop?
A customer chimed in – it was Ana Maria

The old woman sighed with every dead name dropped
She barely came to my shoulder
a blue wool scarf reached up to cover her mouth from the soot

It started to thunder then,
and ten more names were recalled, each in its place
The sons at the glassworks – their father went too.

It was the season, he repeated
Handsome in his day, but without his usual bowler hat
his chin tilted in remembrance

It’s never happened before like this
ventured the customer, the one who knew names
No -- a year ago, maybe two -- five people died on a single street!

It was the season
their season

the rain slacked,
conversation lulled
started to roll up my pants

she’s going to risk it
a heretofore quiet one ventured
she’s going to risk it