Good Old Days

The prompt for 11/26/11 was to write a poem about the “good old days,” which was an interesting proposition, but I got hung up on it completely. It took me three days to get rid of the reservations I had so I could move on. 😛 At any rate, this is the poem, not particularly cheerful, but at least thoughtful.

 

Someone Else’s Good Old Days

Over the holiday
I got to see some old slides
on an old slide projector.
(An archaic idea these days
but still fun.)

And it was a revelation
to me
the way other people’s
childhoods
were so very different
than mine.

It was like a window into
the past,
seeing the faded images
of vacations
and graduations
and weddings,
all of the people
seemed so young
and new, though the slides
were yellowed and
blurry.

I imagined living the life
of the people portrayed.

Going to school with the same
neighborhood kids
for all twelve years.

And having no step-parents
or step-siblings
or step-grandparents.

But the thing that struck me most
was the idea of
living in the same house
ones whole life
until it was time to grow up
and move away,
a way of life alien to my own
gypsy
childhood.

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