At the Whistle Stop
On a breezy rooftop patio,
a wiry, white-ponytailed man
with a guitar
plays everything:
Johnny Cash, John Lennon,
Neil Diamond. Skillful
callused fingers strum
as he sings, clear and true,
humble smile and so much soul
you know
this is what he loves to do.
My four-year-old munches
french fries, bounces
along to Sweet Caroline,
matches every word
in his high, soft lilt. He reaches
for my palm at Hands, touching hands,
like he always does.
The sun is butter
melting slow. It spreads
its toasty glow across the sky
so good, so good, so good.
15 thoughts on "At the Whistle Stop"
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Gorgeous. There with you.
I love “The sun is butter” and then the middle rhyme of “melting slow. It spreads/its toasty glow across the sky…”
ah yes!
I like how your “At the Whistle Stop” makes it feel that we all could be enjoying this scene
Yes, the sun is butter. And the child reaches for my palm – like he always does. I really enjoyed this poem.
this was smiles
beautiful, the child reaching hands touching hands, the four-year-old gives us authority to feel this way, sun melting like butter. I liked it very much
“He reaches
for my palm at Hands, touching hands,
like he always does.” Brought tears to my eyes. Oh these days. Melting butter and my heart.
Also. I love the wiry, white-ponytailed man’s song choices 🙂 And I love how you recognize and describe him existing in his happy place “singing clear and true.” When I am around musicians who exude this, I can seem to find any emotion.
If loving Neil Diamond is wrong, I don’t wanna be right!
That melting sun/butter is a fantastic image!
Thanks, all! Love it when life just drops a poem in my lap.
Melted!
Thank you.
“so good, so good, so good.”
This made all of my senses sing ♥
I love the moment when your 4-year-old reaches out to touch your hand during the song lyrics. So sweet and tender! The moments we must remember!