time won't let it

the old bowling alley
is boarded up now.
I can see the long bricked
building behind the barbed
wire.
a car, its burned out
carcass
sits in the back lot,
the seats gone,
the engine
gone. the hood up.
I remember on a Saturday morning,
throwing a ball
down the shiny lanes
in my rented shoes.
hearing the jukebox
play wishing and hoping
by dusty springfield.
the ping and rattle
of the pin ball machines,
eating fries
and drinking cokes.
keeping score with a pencil.
you can go back,
but it's not the same.
the world can't stay as it was.
time won't let it.