Faded yellow paint

There’s one bar in town. Three green parks.

One red brick school, k through twelve.

My childhood is still there on Birch street.

I remember when I was a kid,

in the attic of my parents house.

Recently moved. Beds still not made.

I’d lay awake finding faces

In the faded yellow paint. The other day,

I drove home. The surplus of customers

painted the bar blue. Black spray paint

covered the rundown playground.

The bricks of the schoolhouse worn

to the same brown as the grass

in the parks. The walls of my old room

was painted grey, but I could still see yellow

faces through the cracks in the paint.