Through A Long

Closed Window Of Before

Hopscotch chalk dust

coloring the winds of time

sing song jump rope ditties

echo in tiny leaps

allee...allee..in free

now a prisoner of the past

swings creak in the wee hours

rousing old ones

from their sleep only to find

loose shutters the cause

the smells of bubble gum

and bologna still linger

deep in nostrils flaring

Giggles and hiccups

and squeals in breathy sopranos

play a melody in my yester-ear

Bubbles that never broke...

blown years ago still hold

shimmering dreams of the

what ifs that became whatever

a tattered old teddy bear

still looking bewildered

at where I've gone

staring out

from some landfill pocket

deep beneath yesterday's

treasures compiled

Bike rides still thrill me

with the rush of wind

the unpedaled free falls

and the swoop...swoop..

of the front wheel

in wide arcs dancing before me...

Playing house was easier

when it was only make believe

and mud pies tasted

a whole lot better then crow.

snowflakes were edible delights,

falling prey to

waiting tongues extended

raindrops made puddle-licous stages

where bare footing

Fred and Ginger Juniors

danced lightly across

rainbow-tinted oil slick water

and memories were much fresher

then these stale recollections

now squatting in the

cupboard of my mindThrough A Long

Closed Window Of Before

Hopscotch chalk dust

coloring the winds of time

sing song jump rope ditties

echo in tiny leaps

allee...allee..in free

now a prisoner of the past

swings creak in the wee hours

rousing old ones

from their sleep only to find

loose shutters the cause

the smells of bubble gum

and bologna still linger

deep in nostrils flaring

Giggles and hiccups

and squeals in breathy sopranos

play a melody in my yester-ear

Bubbles that never broke...

blown years ago still hold

shimmering dreams of the

what ifs that became whatever

a tattered old teddy bear

still looking bewildered

at where I've gone

staring out

from some landfill pocket

deep beneath yesterday's

treasures compiled

Bike rides still thrill me

with the rush of wind

the unpedaled free falls

and the swoop...swoop..

of the front wheel

in wide arcs dancing before me...

Playing house was easier

when it was only make believe

and mud pies tasted

a whole lot better then crow.

snowflakes were edible delights,

falling prey to

waiting tongues extended

raindrops made puddle-licous stages

where bare footing

Fred and Ginger Juniors

danced lightly across

rainbow-tinted oil slick water

and memories were much fresher

then these stale recollections

now squatting in the

cupboard of my mind