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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this after my I saw my primary school getting demolished. I became nostalgic and just jotted down what I felt.

Submitted: February 04, 2009

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Submitted: February 04, 2009



I walk down the highway,
that borders my neighborhood.
Large, imposing buildings on one side,
the tranquil Hudson River on the other.

I gaze forlornly at the run down houses,
metal gates, like a jail cell,
entomb these old timers,
ready to use capital punishment
upon these innocents.

Then abracadabra!
The magic dust,
and they vanish.
They are no more.
But what about the memories,
that once permeated their walls and rooms?

The average family,
sitting around the dinner table,
carving the turkey and laughing.

Or how about
the single mom,
and her two twin little boys: Alex and Mike.
Who run outside and play upon the sidewalk,
while their mom smiles at them from
inside her kitchen window.

Those kinds of memories.

It’s sad to think,
that your memories,
can disappear like that,
lying crushed amongst the rubble.
Amongst some straw, wood and brick.

It is horrifying to think
that one day
the street you grew up on,
may no longer be there.
The fun times you played tag,
went trick or treating,
could all just disappear in the dust.

I quicken my step,
trying to run from my thoughts.
Dump them.
Dump them out, and then run.
Dump them, and then run.

I run.
I run.

I run to 94th Street,
and stare at the dank
apartment building before me.
I remember coming home
to the smell of mom baking cookies.
I can still taste them.

I even remember some of my neighbors.
There was:
Mr. Dee, who would bang your floor with a broom,
whenever you moved around;
The twins Nancy and Drew who would play
hide and seek in the halls;
And sweet little Matilda,
calling out sadly for her Daddy,
too young to realise she wouldn’t find him,
as he had died the year before.

I stare at the sign posted on the entrance door;
“Demolition – Two Days. All tenants must relocate.”
I sigh. Nothing stays the same.

So what are we to do?
Do we house or memories
in imaginary streets,
trying to keep them safe forever?
Maybe we can’t save them,
and they are doomed to wander ghost like
among their buildings till they rush down to the ground.

Can the workers hear
the irritated thumping of Mr. Dee’s broom?
Or the laughing of Nancy and Drew?
Or the sad wailing of “Daddy” as Matilda
wanders the halls and the soon to be demolished

© Copyright 2017 Topher Sparrow. All rights reserved.

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