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Bags – By Ken Pobo

Posted on Jul 23, 2017 by in August 2017 | 0 comments

Our moms took us to Pay Less
opening week, Mrs. O’Regan pulling
her son Greg in a red wagon. Mom
lugged two bulky brown paper bags
8 blocks home, a babushka
on a windy day.

At Ben Franklin’s I bought penny candy
from a grouchy woman:
Lik m Aid sticks, Mary Janes,
fake cigarettes. The bag
helped me see Villa Park
through a sugar lens.

Both moms
are gone.

The unkind might call them relics,
old bags. They hold treasure
and mystery. And are strong.
Hard to break
even when we tear them.

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