Memory

 

 

What makes us look at something

such as an old dirty shoe in the street

and then clickó

we remember jumping the creek by the school

or landing in it

as I did,

my shoe stuck in the sucky

mucky mud.

And then our memory drifts over to the

friend who was there

who is now long gone,

years since we last played football

at recess or talked

about who was the best baseball player

 

And then we think about where he is now,

if he ever became a policeman

like he wanted

or was he just another

ordinary person

just like us.

And we wish we could go back

not just in our minds, but in reality,

to live it again,

the fun of being young,

no eight hour work days

just baseball and the creek

and me and him.