Of Age 16
There’s a memory locked there in consciousness
(Whiz bang electro-chemical marching band)
of age 16. Summer. I squat by the road
In front of step-dad’s store. In the flow.
(I could do it better then. I miss that.)
I direct my mind <print>Remember here.
Remember and answer me. Am I okay there?</print>
(The line’s one way, but, spookily, two.
One’s me, the other is a short to ground.
A truly twisted pair.)
But, peace, young thing. You have not brightly shown,
But the light is here, and steady.