turn into a narrow quiet street
go down it
and all you will find are
empty desolate houses
and end of the road
you've been here before
the dead yet magnificent oak tree
lifeless swing hung on the bough
withered grass all around
milk coffee brown
silence
the birds have long gone
the road cold and uneven
memories are not for the faint hearted
more often than not the past is prettier than it seemed to be
turnaround
but don't recount your steps