We lived in a mid-sized town
on a street called Elm.
Lined with trees that shaded sidewalks,
that cooled the summer heat
and kept the sun from burning your lawn.

The homes were all similar.
Built in the Fifties to house
veterans returning from both wars.
Dad came home with a grin,
presenting his new Chevy Bel Air,
turquoise and white with wide sidewalls.
I had to move my bike lying in the driveway
where I was told to keep it off
but somehow it always found its way back

We had a cocker called Molly
who wiggled her **** whenever she’d spot
you coming home, a small arf and a wag of her tail.
I had an older brother that tolerated me.
Every once in a while he’d tussle my hair
and called me kid,
even though he was only two years my senior.

Saturdays were my favorite.
Mom doled out our allowance.
Fifty cents was a big deal.
It would buy us a Saturday afternoon serial,
popcorn, red vines and pop.
So much for saving for a rainy day.

We lived close to Main street, just a few blocks away.
I loved to browse the hardware store,
smelling the newly greased wrenches,
tanned leather gloves, and work boots.

My friends and I all ran in a pack
and returned home at dusk,
usually just in time to smell the roast as mom
pulled it out of the oven.
Dinner was laid out on a chrome and red formica table
with matching chairs.
Molly sat close, eager for a small treat.

Memories, I have many.
Regrets, only a few.