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The Home of My Childhood

There was a house:

Allen Avenue, 04103

 

As far as I can remember

It wasn't ever a home.

 

It stood empty

and decayed along the busy road:

 

A reminder in white peeling paint

and single-pane windows

of what the neighborhood was.

 

All through my childhood it remained,

and decayed, and observed.

 

And the summer I came home,

freshman year of college done,

so was the house.

So was the home of my childhood.

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Written by
a
American
Published
Sep 3, 2012
Lines·Words
15·73
Notes

Inspired by Lucan's "To the House on Winter Street"

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