Childhood
I know of a place.
A place where the wind
breathes The Beach Boy’s
Kokomo.
Where jet-black storm
clouds threaten
the horizon.
But never rain.
Where the aroma of
wet alfalfa clings to
nostrils.
Where a dozen
Collie puppies bark
pure
happiness.
Where kids leap from
car bumper to hoop rim
and get yelled at.
Again.
Where dad stumbles home
at sunrise and
it’s Wednesday morning.
Again.