"Fresh Pretzel, Get Your Fresh Pretzel!
Punchclock people
Rush across cobblestone streets
Lined with trolley tracks.
William Penn perches atop City Hall.
Reading wantads on a damp wooden bench.
Stuffed belongings
In mother's "telling" birthday gift
Two blue suitcases.
Left home, never going back!
Felt like just another plate
At the kitchen table.
Sofasurfing at seventeen.
"Fresh Pretzel, Get Your Fresh Pretzel!"
A voice in my ear,
The Pretzel Man smiling,
"Young Lady you look like you need
A fresh pretzel today."
He gave me one,
Smeared with yellow mustard
Just the way I like it.
"Have a good day," he says.
Punchclock people
Rush across cobblestone streets
Lined with trolley tracks.
Pretzel Man hawking,
"Fresh Pretzel, Get Your Fresh Pretzel!"
-
Author:
Joan Reese (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: July 17th, 2025 21:21
- Comment from author about the poem: Growing up in Philly: there seemed to be a Pretzel Man on every corner. I left home at 18 with only $20 in my pocket. I didn\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'t want to spend 5 cents to buy a pretzel but I wanted one and the Pretzel Man knew it. I needed an act of kindness that day!
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 1
Online)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.