This is actually an adaptation (reinterpretation?) of a passage from an older story of mine. Try to guess which one?

Available in Cable-Knit Sweater, a poetry collection available on Wattpad.

Get the free MP3.

Same as it ever was,
that two-street town,
cracked and broken.
Forty-thousand lives,
liquor stores and sex tapes.
Pool hall, library, motel.
Six gas stations,
walking distance.

At night, lights flicker
wires hum.
Ricer, low-rider fusion
navigatin’ pot holes,
taggin’ walls,
barrin’ doors,
and hittin’ floors.
Was that theirs? Or was it ours?

Fireworks, screechin’ tires.
Deep breath.
Hard left.
You’re goin’ back in time.
Windows are undressin’.
Signs changin’, paint peelin’.
Movies on six-screens,
minigolf, arcade machines.
Nintendo rentals a dollar a night,
but buy her a drink
and see where she takes you.

Cruisin’, weavin’,
ridin’ down that black scar.
Gardens and groves,
berries and farms.
When that house was new,
and not some empty lot.
Just enough road,
88 miles an hour.
Straight shot, up and away
from this city without color.

But that’s the thing.
Memory Lane is a one-way street,
spinnin’ your ass back the way you came.
Red, blue, green.
Repainted walls, fading dreams.
Parked in the driveway,
hating the way the rain falls,
washing out all the color.
And yet the dirt clings all the same.

Home. Steve Arviso. 2018.


Black Bird Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License

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