It Hurts Too Much
I drove by my old home two times after I moved.
The second time I passed it I felt such deep hurt
that the new owners did notcare for trees, flowers,
and shrubbery we had tended with such care and
I decided I had viewed this house for the last time,
didn't want to look again at this house I had loved
but to remember how it was when we lived there,
to imagine it in my mind still the same.
I want to remember my old neighborhood as it was
in my years as a new homeowner, my years with
children and dogs, sitting at a picnic table drinking
coffee with neighbors, grill in backyard. Good years.
Not the later years as things began to change,
formerly well manicured lawns invaded by weeds,
wild noisy late-night parties, trash left in street,
and rumors of a drug house in the next block.
Most neighbors I knew had died or moved away,
replaced by people who meant nothing to me,
didn't talk, went into and out of their homes with
no neighborly greetings, teen-agers who wandered
without purpose, houses that needed paint or repair.
Yes, it was time to move on. I saw subtle signs
and didn't want to see more, and no I won't pass my
house or neighborhood again. It hurts too much.
