Memory Lane

Was there ever a street
named Memory Lane?
If so, was it filled
with classic cars
humming lyrics for lovers
as it twisted and bobbed
past golden Aspens
and blooming Orchards?

Did the road commence
at the foot of a black and white
drive-thru, where teenage passions
spilled forth in rivers as wild
as newborn dreams?
And where exactly did the lane end?
Was it when the dreamy
neighborhood became real estate?

When the summer patios and grassy yards
became deserted and unfamiliar?
When kissing stops became
just another intersection to wait out a light?
But perhaps there was no getting on or off at all.
Every boulevard, avenue, ramp…
all memory lanes through the city of
a mind in constant construction.

We should park this poem right here,
in the shade of this beautiful Orchard.


(c) 2013 by Vincent Lowry