MINNEAPOLIS BEFORE SUMMER ENDED
We’d walk from my grandparents,
in matching pink dresses,
and skip to the city bus stop.
We sang Petula’s song
as we watched summer run
through the maples
and oaks that lined
the streets planted in the
1950s. Birches
(or were they aspens?)
sprouted near doorsteps
of cookie cutter ramblers
on wide roads that shared
space with bicycles, cars,
and no fear.
We thought her song was
about our city. We left
the lyrics on the curb
as we made our way
to the bench seat
at the back of the bus.
Humming quietly for
our adventure downtown.
We’d weave through big
buildings and skyways.
Throwing pennies
in fountains and dining
on top floors of skyscrapers.
Window shopping through
stores and selecting one
prized possession for
the new school year.
Umbrella or backpack.
We’d watch the city lights
as we were serenaded
by the city noise.
Even with the angst
of school encroaching
on summer, when we went
downtown we forgot all
our troubles and we forgot
all our cares, just like
Petula piped.
Nicole Zwolinski