The Ex-Mayor's Tale

When the air conditioner set fire
to the drapes, he awoke to the smell
of smoke, saw the flames,
and escaped with only his shorts on.
Everything was lost.
His trusty dog, thank the Lord,
had been playing outside.
Now he is replacing his clothes,
his false teeth, his burned goods.
Fortunately, his grown children are helping,
but rent is high near DC.
He's far from his Ohio roots,
down near the river, across
from the West Virginia line.
Even so, the south is still
in his speech, revealing his origins.
It's a long life story,
much of it told in the forty minutes
he fills with words
as I wait for the dentist.
He says those new false teeth feel great.

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Vicki Abshire, once accurately described as a "gregarious recluse," lives with one of her sons in Seattle, Washington, where she frequents coffeehouses and indulges in happy hour at the local lounge. She writes for the love of words. A few of her flash-fiction stories appeared online at the 1001 Nights Cast, and the late, lamented Dakota House Journal published several of her poems and essays.