The fountain of hope

Clasping a sweetgrass basket,

Two wrinkly hands molded in bronze lift up the source of pride for Charleston.

The water refreshes the basket.

The fountain is too new for the gathering of pennies at the bottom.

A red ribbon is cut with oversize scissors at a nearby store.

I go to the newly minted shopping center to get my taxes done on a sunny Friday afternoon.

Numerous forms and signatures for a paltry income.

The tax man is missing all his bottom teeth except for one lone brown tooth.

He seems to be a soothsayer. He knows I have no children, just by saying I am single.

He spelled tutor wrong, but I didn’t correct him because I didn’t want to be rude.

I hope to see the fountain there next year and have only one W-2 form for the nice tax man.

 

 

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