The old Princess Theatre on Gore Street

I don’t write poems very often, but I like this one, so I thought I’d share it. 

There was this man with a rubber hand who fixed toasters
and coffee makers at the Sally Ann
on Gore Street in my hometown.
I never met him, but I’d walk past him,
him and those awful kids’ corduroys and fire engine red sweaters
and bridal gowns from other-side-of-the-tracks weddings,
on my way to parades or Saturday matinees,
and always, on my way to these parades or Saturday matinees,
I’d want to ask him,
as I skipped and whistled past him,
How hard is it to fix a toaster when you’ve got a rubber hand?