THEY LIVE ON MEMORY LANE
it’s
11:10
am
and
whoever
lives there
must
be at work
the
aftermath
of
rush hour
is
like invisible tumble weeds
through
the
roads
the
house
reminds
me of neighbourhoods
of
my past
before
I became poor
the
rose bushes sway a little in the breeze
like
they were inviting me in for a lemonade
I
stare at the house like I belong there and it hurts that I don’t
memory
lane is
a
dangerous place to visit
Daniel J.
Flore III’s poems have appeared in many publications. He is the author of 4
books of poetry from GenZ Publishing.
No comments:
Post a Comment