Stacy's Place A brisk north wind blows the sails, This eleventh day of June. I head downtown to Stacy�s Place, My watch shows half-past noon. This day would not compare With most any summer day, The chill in the air is real enough, So I hurry along the way. I reach the steps of Stacy�s. Ah, the aroma in the breeze. I step along the cobble walk And over twigs from nearby trees. I open the wooden screen door, An awaiting crowd I face. One open stool at the bar, And so, I settle into place. Around me friends and travelers And other townsfolk be, Enjoying Stacy�s luncheon plates And of course, her hospitality. I see her through the kitchen door. She glances with a smile. Disappears, then comes out to me Bearing coffee, served in style. �Sir, in honor of this blustery day, We have prepared a special treat. It comes highly recommended, And takes the chill from all who eat!� Curious now, and not willing to Diminish her presentation, I had no choice, so accepted, But, with a bit of reservation. Responding, �Excellent choice", with a nod, �Disappointed sir, you will not be.� Off to the kitchen, now at the door, She stops, looks back and winks at me. Taking one more sip from my coffee, Preparing, not knowing what�s next, She comes through the door with tray held high. I scan the room, for on me, all eyes are now fixed. "Sir", she says, then lowers her tray, With a look that could not be prouder, Then delivers a bowl of steaming hot soup. This dear woman has served me clam chowder! So that you not get the wrong idea, I�ve been married most of my life. To explain this is yet very simple, The fact is, Stacy�s my wife. Douglas Fletcher 5/2001 |
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