Halloween 1960. Me, a friend, two sisters and a cousin.
Changing of the Guard
The elderly McBrides were quiet folk
whose claim to fame was that, on Halloween,
they’d hand us kids a nickel if we made
them laugh. A silly song, a corny joke
was all it took. He was an ex-Marine,
wore medals to the Veterans Day parade;
she was the quintessential Southern belle,
who’d die before she’d utter damn or hell.
Overnight, it seems to me, they’re gone,
supplanted by the Dukes, a family
of eight. Now trash cans line the unkempt lawn,
and Mr. Duke, who sports a trim goatee,
will often disappear from dusk till dawn,
while she can be heard swearing. Royally.
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