Bringing back some new poetry (oxymoron?) from Clutch

“106 Way Road”

Bricks seem so thick

There’s a black top in front of me

It glows underneath the flood lights

An old memory of simpler times re-visits

Already nostalgic, I indulge it

Embrace it

Those young faces I once matched

While the wrinkled ones would try to organize our chaos

And quiet us in our single file lines

Then, my age was expressed by how dirty I could get before the sun set

Soon it will be shown by how deep my skin sags

My mind focuses again

And my attention directed to the reflection of copper laying face up I pick it up

When I press it between my fingers the imprints claim their land, but the temperature matches my mood

Goosebumps from a strange chill

Hanging my head, I hold it hostage

Blaming it for not enjoying what I once lived

The images remain, but my body spreads my only feeling Numbness

Looking up to where I once threw orange on orange I see the paint is fading from the rim

It’s chipping away, slowly becoming non-existent

The net is gone now, I guess it was my childhood

Back when my innocence made me smile

When my thoughts roamed outside of a box while I roamed around in them

But I’ve thought too much,

And reached the cube holding everything in

I’m trapped

Looking past the black top I can see the swing set,

The monkey bars,

Even farther lays the balancing chains,

The slide My eyes follow its slope

At the bottom, sitting down, there is a figure

It stands and walks towards me

It’s so small F

our steps from the pavement now

It approaches

The figure does nothing but smile at me

Smiling at its older self I look down

My lips cheek upwards, and my eyes water a little

As my heart slows it gets louder

Lowering gently onto one knee, at eye level, staring I tell myself my last words, “Although today it is me, we all shall fall.”

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