Wanderlust

Posted: September 1, 2020 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

WANDERLUST
By David Allen

It's a wonder my parents
didn’t get in trouble 
for letting me run free.
From as far back as I remember,
I did things that could have 
bought charges of child neglect
for allowing me to run wild.

I am the oldest of seven children 
and gladly surrendered the role
of mother's little helper
to my sister, two years younger, 
while I discovered the world. 

Trespassing was my usual crime.
Abandoned homes, factories, 
military bases, and the estates 
of Roaring Twenties millionaires,
decayed after the Depression.
They were my playground.

I never knew what I might find
Signs of a ghost?
Old books, photos?
Remains of animals?
Forgotten paintings?
Broken statues?
Stairways to the sky?

I once found the blackened
remainder of a forgotten pie
in an old wood oven.
In a mildewed closet,
I discovered a half-filled diary
that ended with a huge 
hand-drawn exclamation point.
In a flooded factory basement
I used a wooden door as a raft.

I was lucky no one
ever confronted me
as I sought what remained 
when life moved on 
to other structures
and other worlds.
 

Comments
  1. This is so beautiful. It sounds like you had literally the perfect childhood. At least my definition of it 🙂

    Like

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