Hole In The Hedgerow

Joanies Café

Burned down the other day,

Only it’s a bike shop now,

An antique store before that,

But before then it was Joanies Café.

Where in the twilight of my youth I used to play,

On the first of my Friday nights away.

Where at a dimly lit cobweb-laden counter

I used to eat and drink for free,

No wonder the place went out of business,

Never saw anyone that came pay.

Even the cats got free room and board,

Joanie had a love for any stray,

And if it weren’t for their paw prints in the dust,

You would get lost in that labyrinth

Of antique oddities covered in must and rust,

And mannequins with their clothes half stitched,

And old portraits with their eyes bewitched.

In the attic that was said to be haunted we’d meet,

Lit by ethereal rays of moonlight through cracks,

And by the flickering of an old whale oil lamp,

Matt would sing,

I’d play the guitar,

Karen would be on the cello,

Evelyn would write poems,

While Aiden just read anything,

And everyone had a thing they’d do,

And the ghosts and shadows were our audience.

Joanies Café burned down a long time ago,

When all the strays found new homes,

Leaving behind tracks you could see from the moon.

Then the spiders’ homes were all swept up,

And the paw prints got all dusted away,

And then this bike shop on South Street,

Burned down the other day.