We Spent our India

Pipers piped but their tunes held no melody

In the dawn’s early light we spent our India

Children sat curbside and safe in the city

Mothers baked and jarred candy and jelly

Fathers with Marlboro smiles jostled friendly

Through the time card gate on First Avenue

They bid so long through stainless steel teeth

Jostling color coded helmets with loosened fists

“Wanna stop for coffee at the Little Chef?”

Passing each row home whose porches expressed

Geranium blooms and awnings of red

Steel-toed shoes and metal lunch boxes

Rattled their way home for dinner at six

They passed Ash Park where agéd players hit

farther than in their youth they would admit.

Dad took mother on the hill that summer

By next April he would have his first daughter

Mom wore white socks and Oxford Saddles

When she strollered her uptown

passed The Bon Ton and Chertok's.

The line of workers stretched from First to Eighth

While the bosses crossed South Hill above Oak Street

The boss sat on his porch and whistled Bob White

Then walked the hedgerow side with his dog unleashed

The pipers piped a tune with no melody

and in a short time it was all just a memory

Our India the jewel in the crown was the city

Unlevered they left and took with them our miracles

And without any miracles the workers disappeared

And later their pensions for their retirement years.