Or Maybe . . .
By Carol Flanagan

I love the way the sidewalk smells after Grandpa hoses it down.
It smells like promise.
What will this long, hot day bring?

Maybe Chrissy and I will play dolls
in the alley behind the house
where the subway roars out of the tunnel. . .

or maybe we’ll all pile into Aunt Kay’s big black car
with the scratchy wool seats
and go to the beach club. . .

or maybe we’ll take two busses to Orchard Beach
and eat sandy bologna sandwiches. . .

or maybe we’ll go up to tar beach
and watch the Yankees play. . .

or maybe we’ll make pot holders
and try to sell them to the neighbor. . .

or maybe watch movies on TV in a dark living room. . .

or maybe Nana will take me to the movies. . .

or maybe I’ll play in cool water in the big porcelain tub. . .

or maybe. . . .