Going Home




You go back to the place you grew up
and find it’s changed
houses and bars that are no more
the ones still standing,  unrecognizable

and you see her now,
the teen beauty of your dreams
a cocktail waitress at the local
chain chicken wing joint

and the jock wide receiver
a depressed, pot smoking auto mechanic
once a smash hit
on the small town party circuit

remembering the pranks
the ritual, the desecration
the psychotropic drug induced fiascos
the beautiful music that came from her mouth

that  tender mouth;
her eyes look at you
with the slightest hint of recognition
perhaps remembering the bon fires and drunk driving

before her kids, before divorce
before she worried about her weight.
her drinking, her credit cards
falling asleep alone with a fan blowing on her face

you moved away
the point of departure no longer matters
You’re still invisible to her…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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