for karen

it's a slow drive

through 

the old neighborhood.
the houses
are small,
smaller than you remember.
flat roofs,
rough bricked with
casement windows.
graffiti walls.
the street narrows,
and turns below
the long licorice
lines of power
and phone wires
strung low.
you remember the hiding
places, now
overgrown,
the bowling alley
boarded up, the long wall
against where
you stood and swung
at pitches from your brother,
a strike zone
painted in. still there.
the sweet memories
of a first kiss
linger as you drive through,
as you slow down
to stare at the window
where you once looked
out at a world
you knew so little about, 

but now do.