A little springtime tune

I heard a whistle in the distance, high and piercing.

I was ensconced on a bench, as not very many people say.

The pitch was a little shrill and constant – but slightly irregular.

I was comfortable in the shade with a healthy breeze rustling my papers.

The sound of the whistle was getting closer – or were there two?

The noise of cars behind me I recognized – a certain incessance.

And then a mother walked into view from up the sidewalk –

trailing two little girls piping off my port bow.

Their light dresses caught the springtime breeze

and their pink lips were clearly not tired of their little game.

And then the older girl stepped right in front of me where I sat

and held up a shaped piece of hard, pink sugar on a stick.

‘It’s a candy whistle,’ she nearly giggled the words.

And then she and her little sister ambled on,

whistling a one-note tune on down Massachusetts street.

I smiled a little smile at the thought of getting one for myself,

but I’d likely be taken for a public nuisance.

And a little white cotton dress surely wouldn’t do anything for my image.

Maybe I’ll just hum a little under my breath.

I’ll be harmonizing and no one else will know.

But I might just buy a candy whistle for a little girl I know;

I’m sure her parents will not thank me.

But what do I care?

It’s spring.