Sunnyside
I walked through my old neighborhood.
Marveling at the landmarks that used to pass every day but had forgotten.
The mosaicked bench in memory
Of a killed bicyclist. The bed and breakfast
Where my mother stayed. We played
Gin rummy in the kitchenette.
Then there are the things that have changed.
The courtyard of a seedy apartment complex
Now bursting with manicured foliage.
Shelves filled with books and a sign
“Talk is cheap. These books are cheaper”
Beside a jar full of coins and dollar bills.
A house a friend used to live in,
And another. Three separate apartments
Of women I went on dates with.
Tibetan prayer flags. Rainbow windsocks.
A black cat comes up so I can let her,
Is immediately bored.
I miss the brightly colored houses, the flowers,
The crockery spilling out
of a soggy cardboard box.
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