The oldest of the grand houses along Washington
Dates from ‘84 and is one of our parlors,
A mansion with wraparound porches and bay windows
Built by a fishing magnate, a great man,
Himself buried from home, in the former custom.
Many evenings there are crowds of people and cars,
So a stranger would think party, again as earlier,
Though absent the orchestra and alcohol – or only sometimes
A pint flask pressed in a corner, a cello.
Mornings, the stranger would guess brunch, an awards
Ceremony for civic pride held in the restored
Structure, the women’s hats and silk bows
Another throwback. Like the calm, serious conversation,
The white leather guest book, and the garden.
