A store acknowledges its hours

With a sign reading: “Yep” or “Nope”

Depending on whether it’s open.

And the little old Pumpkin Lady,

Spry at 74 and perpetually clad in orange

Is talking about how three brake lines were shot:

“I pushed the brake down and it went all the way to the floor.

‘Nuf to scare the puddin’ out of an old woman.”

We haven’t seen her in a coon’s age,

But she’s been up to her usual shenanigans.

“They called me up for an interview because they said I was an icon.

I asked them, don’tcha hafta be old to be an icon?”

We poke around at her ceramic treasures that she’s still firing up daily in her kiln.

She’s put off getting a new tire to replace her flat one until September’s Pumpkin Festival,

When business is best.

She is our adopted sassy grandmother

Whose pumpkins never go bad.

Year after year, they greet sunsets with an equally bright orange gaze.

We aren’t there to clean her gutters or drag heavy garbage bins to the street,

But every so often, we take the five-hour round-trip to enliven business enough

To allow new tires to come rolling in.