Curbside Stories

So here's a poem I wrote last year when my mom sold our old house. It was the first place I had lived at for more than a year or two. I have great memories there, and bad ones as well. After moving the last box out of the house I sat on the curb looking at the road and the cigarettes that had blown infront of our house. I then began to look all about the street remembering the rollerblading on the smooth street when I was young. Now they had been cracked and broken from all the floods my street endured. I haven't been back to my old house since last New Years Eve. I'm not sure if I will, but I'll always have That Old Road.


Curbside Stories Told at That Old Road

That old road
It welcomed me back
The friendly cracks seemed to laugh and remember the times
When we would drive on it and it would shimmer in the cascaide of the head lights
Cigarette butt's lined the curb
Each with a different story
Each story with a different ending
Yet the settings seemed the same
As did the poeple in it

That old road never seemed to mind
It welcomed me back with every visit

"Mikey, you've grown. I remember you when you were just a boy."
"When you would run and hide from all that scared you."

That old road
It welcomed me back
The cracks that were once friendly
Turned into unforgiving pot holes

"Mikey, you've grown..."
"Time has changed us both..."
"Forgive me if I don't remember you tomorrow..."

That old road...

- Michael Anthony Alcoser