Downtown Kirkwood: The Triangle

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
At the corner of Hosea L. Williams and Howard Street,
where the Triangle folds in on itself like a napkin
at Le Petit Marché, I sit at this metal table,
scratched from years of elbows and coffee rings.
Marchet Sparks set it out in 2008,
when the air still smelled of fresh paint and possibility.
You, little table, hold the weight of brunch crowds,
shrimp and grits steaming in white bowls,
the clink of forks on April mornings.

[Chorus]
Oh, table at Le Petit,
you gather us like old friends,
under striped umbrellas, BeltLine breezes whispering by.
Sun in My Belly's fried chicken biscuits
spill honey butter onto your surface,
and La Casseta's wine glasses catch the evening light.
Pollyanna's vintage scarves flutter nearby,
new-old mix in this social heart.

[Verse 2]
David Sparks wiped you clean that first day,
when the Triangle was waking from its sleep.
Now, on May 5th afternoons, bike bells ding past,
and I trace the rust spots where rain pooled last night.
You're the anchor, holding chatter and laughter,
smell of roasting coffee at 10 AM,
bacon frying, drawing in the neighbors from East Lake.

[Bridge]
But table, do you remember the ones pushed out?
The mom-and-pop ghosts from before the rents climbed,
their stories etched invisible under your legs.
In this vibrant pulse, the new crowds laugh,
but you know the cost, the missing voices.

[Verse 3]
Evening falls, 6 PM golden hour,
La Casseta's reds pour into stemmed glasses on you,
reflecting Howard Street's slow traffic.
You're the center, Triangle's beating core,
where Kirkwood meets itself again and again.

[Outro]
Stay here, little table, hold us a while longer.