Regions Past

I strayed outside, looked at the sky and there fell the rain.

Lit up a Marlboro, took it all in and felt better about the day.

Never in my life, in my years all these years, had I felt this way.

Tired, defeated, lost and old, but hopeful in the rain.

The Northwestern sky looked cold and blew wet, extinguishing my glow.

I tried to draw in again, to milk another drag of life, caught myself in the window.

I saw through my reflection and looked deep through the glass

at a home that’s not mine and some scenes of the past.

My folks are old and my grandparents long gone.

I used to sit with them in chairs and play games on the lawn.

A Midwestern sky was deep blue and the grass was all green.

The houses all had porches, and the siding was clean.

Small children I knew once ran and fell down,

they chased dogs and kicked balls on the Iowa ground.

We played stick ball with corn cobs and and batted runs in,

then all the fun stopped when my dad called us in.

When I was younger still, back East in Spackenkill Heights,

There was a girl there I kissed under the buggy street lights.

I learned some things there, some ugly, some good,

all things that kids learned in the old neighborhood.