Like the sun setting through the trees,
These streets give rise to memories.
The night rising in the strip joints and bars
The lights flash on old fashioned bulbs
And red neons point arrows and outlines of naked women.
All you need to do is go into a dark doorway and down some stairs
And you’ll find yourself in a den.
I remember as a boy
Walking the same city streets and seeing the same neon lights.
Everything seems dirtier and worn down now.
Crossing the road into the park
I see the paths that twist by the pond
And the bench where we would sit and talk about the things that mattered,
None of those things matter now.
It was years ago; nothing seems as serious to me now
As it did when I was 17.
The wind whips the dust in the street
And memories whip in the heart.
I see a poster in a tunnel under the concrete overpass,
The corners are torn.
Remember that man who gave us cigarettes on our first date?
His hair purple and gelled up to points.
We went to the Greek restaurant, and we could only afford an entrée,
We ate and then I walked you home.
At 17 everything is funny, and everything is serious.
The last time I saw you, it was a rainy day
And your car wouldn’t start, so I pushed until it went. You waved but couldn’t stop
In case the old engine stalled.
That old yellow car took you away, you waved out the window and left town.
I prefer it this way; I am glad we never saw each other again.
Memories are worth more when they are left alone.
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