To be forgotten…

Pine straw gathers
At the bottom of the gutter
There’s paper, submerged in soil
And a baseball without a cover;

A cap from some old spray can
And the head of a Barbie doll;
All left behind by rain and time
In the memory of a child.

Somewhere in the backyard
There’s a basketball, deprived of air
Along the fence, in a sunken valley
Where the insects have lived for years;

In the city, beyond the ivy
Past the weeds, sitting all alone.
Behind a tree, in the tall grass,
It’s a million miles from home.

The rust gathers on the faucet,
That drips on an old, green garden hose
That puddles the dreams of a child
After ten years are suddenly gone.

In the old tool shed,
There’s a football, soft with age
The fake leather shows black on one end
And the grips have been worn away;

It tells a story, behind a rake
In the dirt, the seed is sown
In the cob webs, along the wall
It longs to be flying home.

Leaves gather
And mount at the back of the house;
There’s a tennis ball, turned white,
Next to a Coke can and a rotted mouse;

A Band-Aid covered with dried blood
And a Matchbox car without a door;
All left behind in age and neglect
By a childhood that’s lost its lure.

August 15 & 16, 1987.