Poetry | The Bells of Filene’s

The Bells of Filene’s

© 2017 Vernon Miles Kerr

 

Any Boston afternoon,

Downtown Crossing’s canyons

Surge with cars and shoppers.

Walk-Don’t Walk,

Thousands of feet shuffle.

Screeching on Red,

Honking on Green,

Buses and Ducks

Trailing smokescreens.

 

A faint tinkle penetrates

The cacophony.

The City pauses,

Takes a breath,

And listens.

The Bells of Filene’s

Fill the Washington Street gorge.

Scent of mown grass off the Common.

Waft of wok oil out of Chinatown.

Seagulls squawk above

Tranquility wrested out of chaos.

The Bells finish an Etude.

The action resumes.

 

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