Tuesday, November 3, 2009
At the entrance to the city library, perpetually perched on the edge of a timber bench, there sits a little boy all made of bronze. Clutching an open book in one age-worn left hand, crouched in a posture familiar to all readers, engrossed as he is in the upturned page, the statue is the epitome of books and the endless stream of adventures to be found inside them.
I must confess, however, that his right hand vexes me: he grips a bronze hamburger, out of which he has taken a single bite.
I stride past the bronze fellow and his book almost daily; and I yearn, every time, to replace the troublesome hamburger with either a delicious, nutritious bronze sandwich or a shiny bronze apple.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 6:00 PM