Waxing with nostalgia for the good old days,
far away from the rat-race, living at a slower pace.
Walking down the boulevard, window shopping, dreamily at the displays,
you knew your neighbors, doors were unlocked, you felt safe.
A picture perfect postcard type of town,
with tree-lined streets and white picket fences.
high school homecoming queen wearing her crown,
old men swapping tales on park benches.
Warm evenings, sitting on porch swings, sipping iced teas and lemonades,
summer time barbeques, and picnics in the park;
marching bands at holiday parades,
street lights, a reminder to come home before dark.
Candy stores on the corner, and ice cream trucks,
kids riding bikes and flying kites.
You could buy a lot back then for a buck,
when it was baseball, apple pie and the stars and stripes.
Sunday drives and drive-in shows,
we took a trip to the moon and back;
but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows,
the moments, weren’t all Kodak.
They were out of focus and askew,
secluded and secure in their hamlets, safely tucked away,
from the streets where turbulence brew.
nonchalant, they went about their day-to-day.
In that little haven, that tight-knit community,
they could in no way, shape or form; imagine or admit,
that their idyllic lifestyle of credulity,
was an illusion, wholly counterfeit.
It had always been there; out of sight, out of mind,
across the tracks, on the other side of town.
A confederation of the deaf and blind,
all’s well; while they’re dancing away, oblivious at the hoe-down.