He took to soap and water from an early age,
standing on a stool, sleeves rolled up
playing in the suds.
As a college chap,
he was a regular with his chums,
second stool from the left at Chauncey’s Pub.
Not in it for the guzzling,
he liked to watch the suds drip down his glass
and feel the foam against his upper lip.
Retired now, no children of his own,
he’s become a summer legend
in the neighborhood corner park.
Washtub at his feet,
nets of string on two long poles
he dips and waves, and dips again.
Magic billows out across the lawn
this man, doing what he loves
is now, and always has been
the bubbles man.
lillian the home poet 
How fun! And so eloquently expressed. I love your photos too. One of my favorite things in the whole world — bubbles!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much – always love to chat with you. Me too. Bubbles always make me smile! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is delightful! I abhor the noise of the summer weekend beach traffic that roars by my yard. I’ve often wondered what would happen if I sat out there and blew bubbles at the passing parade.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hmmmm…I’d like to think folks would slow down, roll down their windows and wave, hoping to catch those ethereal orbs! :). So glad you liked this fun, gentle poem! 🙂
LikeLike