Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

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.

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