-Elizabeth Brewster
No, there are no longer street cars
Running up from the harbor,
Over which, however,
The gulls still fly.
Today, the water is blue
And the sky pale blue, cloudless.
The August morning sparkles
On the verge of autumn,
Fresh and cold.
Above the harbor, the church spire
Rises, surrounded by staging:
They are repairing the clock tower.
In front of the hotel
There is still confetti
From yesterday's wedding reception.
Next door
People are coming out of
The Full Gospel Assembly,
Sunday saved.
In King Square
The benches are crowded
With loafers and lovers
And a few tourists,
And there are pigeons
And a sparkling fountain
As there are in most squares,
And the children
(As in most squares)
Feed the pigeons
And watch the fountain
While the adults
Watch the children watching.
The statue of Tilley still stands
Pigeon spattered,
But you may not remember
The skater on stone skates
Or the memorial to
Our Glorious Dead, 1939 dash 1945,
Perhaps the stench of poverty
Is not as strong as it was
When you were here
(Anyhow, obviously
It's a finer day
This cool, bright Sunday)
But there is a smell
Like sour glue
From the pulp and paper factory
Mixed with the salt smell of sea.