Paradise

the "Paradise Novelty" store called: "the joke shop"

on North Main street astonished with every visit.

inside, one could purchase fake dog poop which looked

like the real thing, and fake vomit, called: "puke"

which was so authentic-looking it seemed to sour the atmosphere.

also on display were old standards such as big black rubber spiders,

all kinds of pliable snakes, stuff resembling bubble gum,

but chewing it would turn your teeth blue, and your tongue, 

sets of Groucho-esque horn-rimmed frames, perched on long,

false noses, some with mustaches, some without.

(I always opted for the non-mustachioed offering)

also, finger-fitted "shockers"–– the taut-spring mechanics of them,

hidden in the palm of one's hand which would tingle the groins

of the prankster as well as the hand of the recipient, and––

the piéce de résistance: freaky whirlpool-hypnotic see-through anything

"X-Ray Vision" eyeglasses, and although these miraculous spectacles

were "not guaranteed to perform as advertised,"

mine did,—

and wearing them just before twilight,

I'd sit with my back against the chain-linked fence,

the one on the corner at the right-field line,

quietly observing the young women walking home

from the bakeries in their summer dresses, the warm,

crackling-crusted Italian pane held like buntings in their arms.

 

Quequechan / c.1952