That stone-faced soul
was out when mother and baby
and baby went by,
and so was I
in time for the smile,
that little bit left for me.
Tag Archives: neighbors
Bankschroefje
I knew what a vise was
but not the word for it in Dutch.
Still, I figured I’d find whatever it was
“on the work bench
on the third floor,
just under the roof.”
I knew I was looking for
something with a screw.
Piet wanted it to fix a clock.
Not a big clock,
a little clock.
A travel alarm,
like what my Grandma would’ve had
in the ’80’s.
It was a gift from an aunt
and the winder was off.
But first I had to find that screw.
Sentimental ditty about a rock-solid someone
I thought I’d visit my neighbor
instead of myself. I’d seen him sitting there
many a time, in the window,
bent over his lunch. And yes,
Come in, he said, I see you go by.
What’s gone by in him is 92 years,
51 of which were spent playing
trombone
in the Utrecht City Orchestra.
In the war they stuck him
in a German munitions factory,
where the Poles and the French and the Dutch
were all saboteurs,
and the boss, a German,
was a pretty good guy.
This neighbor, Piet,
has pictures of the boss’s daughter.
He’s lived in that house for 60 years.
He’s got an open leg
and can’t go out. But he’s
sweet as sunshine,
shining while we make our way.
Utrecht Journal 