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Rated: E · Poetry · Friendship · #2074671
growing up Southward
Wishes—blades of grass,
that tire swing when
we were young. Do you remember
all the hustle or the child
you’d become? I can
still taste all the honeysuckles’
sweat from where we rode.
On bikes and on our dreams,
oh how we drifted through the night
as kindergarten wolves;
Eventually, some go
alone.

I walk these byways
lonely now—
those wishes, they cut deep.
I creep off into suburbs wrought
from Nature’s false antiques.
But here I see a tire swing!
There, honeysuckle paint
gesturing like a long lost friend
just one street down the road.
© Copyright 2016 Hunter Keough (hkeough at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2074671-SouthernMinded-I