The Changing Breeze

The Changing Breeze

Before the demolition
Turned my old Street
Into rubble
I went to steal some memories
Of our laughter and our struggle

I went to hopscotch down
The chalk lines of the past
Play tag with the echoes
Of ones who didn’t last

Time had aged the street
Like a persons face too old
It wore the strain of many toils
From the ending of ‘black gold’

I walked the shadows & the cracks
Where as a boy I’d dwell
Found hidey-holes of dim blushed light
Where I kissed, but didn’t tell

Mr Wolf was down the lane
And I asked him of the time
He said, “Time for dinner, of course!”
So, I made a quick beeline

For my old house down the street
With the flaking paint blue door
But, suddenly, it seemed to heal
And the blue paint flaked no more

The door itself creaked ajar
And the waft of baking pies
Lit my soul a rosy glow
Bringing tears unto my eyes

Inside, my Father’s singing
And three chorded guitar
Strummed gently upon memories
Long lost, like distant stars

I could hear Mother’s laughter,
My Brother’s cocky charm,
My Sister calling him some form
Of animal from a farm

Wonderful walls of woodchip
Shed magnolia skin
And the faint aroma of Woodbines
Meant that Granda had been in

Then, inside the living room
The fire flickered gold
And underneath its grate
Jacket taties in its hold

The smells
The sounds
The memories
Brought some tears
But mostly smiles
Drifting out from every crevice
Across the time-filled miles

It groaned as I was leaving
And tugged at my heart’s beat
Outside, stood long lost faces
Raising a glass to our street

I filled my glass with memories
A drank it down with ease
And this place of our childhood
Blew away on a changing breeze

Stephen W Atkinson 2021