Sunday Morning in Echo Park

By Joe Donnelly

Wildflowers light up the hillsides light up the hillsides
Explosions of color like a terrestrial fireworks display
Coffee spills on my undershirt, of course
The bees don’t notice

Two chickens in their walk
Cock their heads to the side
And take account
Warbling contentedly
My dog inspects a creature’s burrow
On our secret country lane

The hills really are alive with the sound of music
Don’t Stop Believing, if you can believe it
A young girl on a pink bicycle peddles intently
She knows where she’s going
But it’s not where she said
She has her own plans
Written on a piece of paper she carefully placed
In her big-girl purse

A family ascends the steep steps to Elysian Park
The girls out in front
The parents lagging behind

The corner market is already out of the Sunday Times
Friends gather on their stoops
Laugh at the previous night’s debacles
The coffee shop is bustling
As folks start their day
The old-fashioned way

A small cottage is for sale
With a little work
You could see the possibilities
Back home I write a song
Don’t be surprised
If it’s about you

This article was originally published in Slake No. 2 To read all of the stories from that issue, purchase or subscribe at shop.slake.la.