The Cranford-bury Tales

A place for families, a place for love,
A place truly blessed by the skies above.
A wonderful setting in which to grow old,
The town is called Cranford, or so I am told.

So many activities for kids there are,
Getting food downtown, playing at the park,
Going to the movies when it gets dark.
The center of town is marked by the clock.
There’s a new sight to see upon every block.

The Rahway River, which outlines the town,
Every ten years causes houses to drown.
When this happens, a sense of community
Sweeps through the town like a bottomless sea.

And so, I progress, without further ado,
I have a favor to ask kindly of you.
I pray that you be open-minded, please,
As you will now hear of Cranford’s disease…

At nine o’clock on a warm summer night,
Some students are high, yet there are no flights.
The township of Cranford is far too small
For architects to build a full-size mall.
So most teens, they claim to loathe their hometown
When, by them, its wonders have not yet been found.

So armed with alcohol, cigarrettes, and bongs,
The teens scream lyrics to various songs.
When cops cross their paths they run and they hide,
As they stumble dumbly with every stride.
They are on their way to a party house,
Too drunk, a girl trips and falls on her mouth.
Slurring her words, she mutters, “I’m fine,”
This is the town of Cranford in “oh-nine.”





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