Estate sale


We pass an estate sale
And pull over.

In the shade of a few maples
3, 4 and 5-dollar tables

The books are 50 cents
Spread out on a blanket.

We don’t need anything:
(We just don’t want to go home yet.)

No furniture, vases, bookends
Ornate hairpins

Trivets, mirrors
Lamps, mugs or plates. . .

But then I spy
A little yellowed

Victorian era booklet:

“Old Mother Mitten
And Her Funny Kitten”


“The dog and the cat
Were having a chat

When pussy cried out with a mew,
Dear old Mother Mitten,

Just look at your kitten
She’s going to drink mead with you.

When the supper was over,
The kitten moreover,

Did stand on the top of her head.
So the dog he declares,

They must sleep in their chairs,
And none of them got into bed.”


This book made me smile
Which I hadn’t for a while

My sense of humor was lit.
I read it with pleasure

This serendipitous treasure
Of quirky Victorian wit.

All the way home
I was lost in this poem

In a parallel world if you will.
If things just get worse

I will live in my verse
While everything else goes to hell.