old, but better times, they were

you hear

the old people up at the coffee

shop

talking

about old things.

me too. we talk about

how the mail

came twice a day,

milk and butter,

cream and eggs,

were on your doorstep

in a metal box,

at the crack of dawn.

the newspaper came too,

thick

with news.

we had a phone on 

the kitchen wall.

and one in

the bedroom.

the tv was in the living room

and looked like

an antique box

carved by the hands

of a local

Michaelangelo.

there were four, five,

seven and nine,

and channel twenty 

if you turned

the rabbit ears just right.

and to fix the picture

when it rolled,

your sister stood by,

to slap her hand

against the side.

there was no remote,

so we took

turns on whose turn it was

to get up

and change the channel.

old, but

better times.