A woman walking in the North End,
Clean laundry tucked in an oversized bag.
Her shirts and towels neatly folded,
The warmth from the freshly dried fabric,
Radiating into the air.
A man paces by,
From the very same laundry.
He shoved his goods into a sack,
Lugged across his shoulder.
A complete picture it would be,
If he had a beard and a cap.
Cobblestone roadways,
Torn by the plows.
Moving the snow all winter.
Has an unsuspecting driver broken an axle?
Or has a distracted runner
Broken his foot?
I thought I heard Italian on the street,
Along with Spanish, Portuguese and Dutch.
Nearby the “Connah Store” owner was shuttering his windows,
While biting into a Cannoli.
The tourists were wearing,
Fur coats, scarves and boots.
The locals donned heavy sweater and an occasional jacket
The sunlight bounced off the harbor.
The yellow turned to gold on the windows.
How lovely Boston can be,
During a winter evening.
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