In my mind I have memories of a street that is not quite a street, but rather a stream, 

Which flows through a strip of woods, into a culvert,

Down a gully, through the backyards of my neighborhood, 

And into a pond that lies next to the tracks. 

This stream is the street of my childhood, 

That as you walk along, you just might see 

Traces of the neighborhood shenanigans 

That took place a very long ten years ago. 

 

Let’s begin in the east, towards the soy and corn fields

Where you will find the remains of a century old junkyard

Once raided by a pack of thieves

Who found treasures of all sorts

Like old dinosaur bones 

And rusted spaceship parts

 

They sparked our imaginations and tingly sensations

Of dreams, exploration, and all sorts of aspirations

That what started in a junkyard adventure 

Would lead us right to where we wanted to be

And would be the beginning of our childhood street. 

 

We set out for those dreams as we hiked through the jungle

Move west you’ll find the tee-pee settlement

Showing clear signs of a long forgotten war

That freed hundreds and thousands of leprechauns and more

What’s left of the magical animals, remains locked away 

In small holes of tree stumps, sealed with stone and clay.

 

Our creations of bridges, held up by strings

And adventures in tree forts, among other things

Revealed to us the feeling of freedom

And strength of independence that we found within

Within the forest that sheltered our childhood street.

 

As you walk west down our flowing street 

You’ll find an overgrown culvert with faded memories

Of a picnic once had by monsters, escaping summer’s heat 

As we sat snacking on stale pretzels, we’d tell tall tales

The tunnel echoing laughter, with our feet up in the air

Squinting eyes, and hearts so full, it was almost hard to bear.

 

Those were the times when our creativity flourished

In talk of what creatures we’d save, or adventures we’d pave,

We found the value in trust, support, and courage

For all we knew then, was that we were just friends

For we were the creatures that roamed our childhood street.

 

Creatures, whom in the rise of spring

Raced boats made of frisbees and wood and string 

That zipped down the stream, and under the bridges

Passed cattails and grasses like Amazon rapids

Where they met their fate of the gigantic, humongous

Two foot waterfall. 

 

The falling water changed a roaring river to a peaceful stream

Something so simple, yet made such a big difference

Oh how much a waterfall can resemble one’s dream

A dream to inspire, a dream to change

There, I could make my own out of our childhood street.

 

As you march through the stream and in the tall weeds

You will see railroad tracks marking the end of our street 

Pirates would lay doubloons on the rail, wait ‘til they were flat,

And collect treasures like rail spikes and colorful glass 

While they looked down the infinite tracks of summer’s heat waves

That made them wonder what their next adventure might amass.

 

The railroad was the only place left to conquer

Where we ventured as far as our imaginations wandered 

It is the path, the street to our futures

Guiding us to whoever we are meant to be

A future brought to us by our childhood street.

 

In my mind I have memories of a street that is not quite a street, but rather a stream, 

Which flows through a strip of woods, into a culvert, 

Down a gully, through the backyards of my neighborhood, 

And into a pond that lies next to the tracks.

Moving beyond the neighborhood streets

I glance over my shoulder at four explorers

With sticks and sacks, making new adventures like ghosts of my past

These are the faces, the stories, the places that inspired me within my childhood street.