old woman she was surprisingly agile.
soon as our wiffle ball rolled into her irises,
dashed down her steps and grabbed it
then ran to add it to her collection.
knew how useless it would be to knock on her door
say we’re sorry and beg for our ball back.
behind her door she would just curse
few Polish words we knew.
just accepted that our game was over.
the other side of the street,
Because she was old and had nothing better to do,
Another widow was watching us.
called us over to her porch
with a yellowed smile, gave us each a wrapped Tastykake.
the moment we forgot about our game,
the crazy old woman with her stash of balls.
down on her steps to eat,
to find as we unwrapped them
she had licked the icing off the tops
repackaging the cakes.
stood behind us grinning,
Waiting to either be thanked or to laugh at us,
looking at each other, not knowing how to handle,
the meanness of women,
their type of kindness.
Yazinski is a retired English teacher who, with his wife Jeanne,
divides time between Northeastern Pennsylvania and Winter
Garden, Florida. His poems have appeared in The Journal of the
Mulberry Poets and Writers Association, Poets Online, Strong
Verse, The Bijou Review, Recursive Angel, The Edison Literary
Review, Lunarosity, Penwood, Jones Av., Centrifugal Eye,