Back when James Bond
and Indiana Jones were favorites
among the household,
and breakfast sizzled to tickle me
out of bed, and when cartoons
were at the perfect time of day
after long hours of instruction—
those days are gone,
replaced by weeks condensed
with indifference towards each other,
and echoing anguish off of unfinished floors,
and harping about the price of fuel—
Back when felines were abundant
to love and protect like the family they became
until they were given a new home while I was away,
and activities were shared with no such thought,
and the bottles of chardonnay were less often—
before the switch flipped, before the filter dissolved,
before critical understanding of the complexities
and intricacies of life and human nature;
Growing pains are the realizations
that not everything is as it was,
and there isn’t a way to return