77

77

I still see the number in my mind’s eye

Exactly as it was

The door is no longer… 

          –

Destroyed in urban clearance

But I still see the number

On gloss-green painted door

All brass shining on its plaque

          –

Where I was born

Gone with the house

That number is fixed

In my mind’s eye

It represents my family

It is the constant

The number on our door

          –

Brass bright – like some ancient landmark

“77” I say it again

Once we enthused

at its sunset strip connection

“77” – brass – polished – by diligent mother

          –

Quickly take me back

Green door – red step

Window sills

Paper mill at the street’s end

Roofs to climb in naughty pursuit

          –

I will ride the imaginary horse

And espy with my little eye

77 glinting in the sun

Branded on my memory

Bygones gone forever

Leaving 77 to shine on

On the green door of my heart

3 thoughts on “77

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