“Up the alley” “Down the shore” are places that still hold <br />memories as clear yesterday itself <br />ragged pavement stumbles, skipping feet bound in Keds <br /> <br />or catches noisy metal wheels of roller skates. <br />bound to our feet with metal clamps <br />adjusted by a string strung key around our neck <br /> <br />pigtails fly behind the bike ascending to our lot <br />where crick meandered and pollywog played <br />and breezes captured nature in tiny slices <br /> <br />then back again to Philly row home waiting <br />where on the stoop a familiar playpen stands <br />imprisoning now a sibling also waiting for escape <br /> <br />and when the rains confined us to the inside <br />we’d play at checkers or monopoly <br />or argue incessantly much to Mom’s dismay <br /> <br />over toys and cellering books <br />or who’s crowns were broken and who’s were whole <br />and who was better staying in the lines <br /> <br />and summertime we wedged ourselves <br />between a birdcage and TV <br />to journey to our shore respite <br /> <br />in Daddy’s jammed and smoke filled car <br />we’d recite rosaries with undo speed <br />begging for a safe arrival there <br /> <br />One stop allowed for potty breaks <br />and since our vehicle had no AC <br />some wooder ice to cool our throats <br /> <br />Then pulling up to bungalow <br />adorned with shutters bearing Bs <br />To claim our ownership and pride <br /> <br />We’d tumble out and quickly lug <br />whatever was required and then disappear <br />exploring familiar spaces of our summer fiefdom<br /><br />Beatrice Dahlen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/philly-recall/
