Storage Garage


Storage Garage


We still talk about it,
but it is vague,
how we stood for hours

holding stones
to etch words on red brick,
it was a storage garage.

Neighbors said furniture
was kept inside: Never saw
another person near that
garage but us kids.

We etched as if we were
carving our life in the alley,
hours on a single name
or date and the heart took
the longest.

We knew a heart around a
name would mean
we were really in love – but
mother and father called it
puppy love

True, I never loved a
ten year old –
so those words,
those hearts and names,
all lies.

Today –
our gang in the alley
could probably fill the wall
with words – words of boys
we thought they loved.
So many names –
so many boys –
it would be nice
to. . .
remember when?

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Angie's Diary