Port St. Joe

  The chalk out on the sidewalk here is fresh –
  It’s smell is one I’ve known since I was small –
  By concrete courts where shoes are heard to squeak
  In rolling games of pick-up basketball
 
  I’m older now, but here I’m still a boy:
  For this is home, in part, no matter where
  I might be else. Reminders all around –
(I fell in love the first time over there)
 
  For I am hobbled now with age and wear:
  Nobody second looks at some old troll
  Who looks defeated by the cares of life.
  No signs of who he was – no outward soul —
 
      But age, this place, have taught me wrong from right —
      And I would not go back in time, despite
 


This is a prompted post.

Author: Sibelius Russell

Sibelius Russell (a/k/a/ Owen "Beleaguered" Servant) lives a life of whimsical servitude -- whatever that means.

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