Small Towns
By: Loukia Borrell
The Mark Literary Review
2019
Republished in Cerasus Magazine, 2021
I love small towns.
Everything is simple.
They have street names
like Main and East,
Church and South.
The doughnut shop
opens at 5 a.m., get your
own coffee and hear the cashier
complain about the local newspaper.
All in a row, the health department,
police station, dance school,
beauty parlor, hardware store,
funeral home and one Italian restaurant,
Anna’s, which seems out of place here.
For in this slice of Americana, there is no reason
to learn the difference between calzone
and calamari, or pecorino and parmesan.
This is a town where bacon and bourbon
are kings, and entire weekends are dedicated to both.
The speed limit is 35, then 25, so don’t go faster,
they’ll know. Those old men on their porches,
balancing coffee and crossword puzzles on their knees.
And the deer at the edge of town, making their way into
the forest, curling up for the day, tucking their hooves
under their white bellies, big, sleepy eyes dreamy
and ears wide open, listening for small town secrets.
