William
Stephanie Hammerwold
The day was hot in small town America
Steam rose off of the freshly paved road through the middle of town
The post office, the barber shop, the police station all stood in a tight row down the main stretch
And William stood there sweeping the porch of the general store.
Eyes brown like the freshly turned soil of a garden
Stared out at the handful of people milling about the quiet street
The broom brushed and swept, brushed and swept
Almost taking on a life of its own as William's mind began to wander.
Days growing up in a family of eight
Watching the leaves grow green
And fall into piles of amber, gold and orange, perfect for jumping in and trouncing through
And William always stayed the longest to play in the leaves.
Days spent in the old red schoolhouse that still stood on the corner by the old McGregor place
Copying down endless dictation given by a teacher with a face stuck in a perpetual frown
Her words echoing like a sentence of life to a condemned criminal
William never understood the boring arithmetic that seemed like a foreign language.
Many a day he sat there daydreaming of distant lands and future plans
A job in an office building that stretched so high it kissed the clouds
Cars rushing by down below like ants heading for the anthill
But William knew this wouldn't be possible.
After school there was little choice but to work in dad's store
Tending to the cash register with its clacking keys and subtle ring
Money well worn with the passing from hand to hand filtering in and out
William grew accustomed to the routine, almost abandoning past dreams.
Now in his seventies, hair graying and thinning in several spots
He stood there, knowing it was late. His wife would expect him home for supper soon.
The sky was turning pink, orange and yellow
And William stood there sweeping the porch of the general store.
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