Yard Sale of Thoughts

Dull, Aching Twang

Childhood living. Your older brother singing.

The cigarette in his guitar hole, incense burning. Our flannel t-shirts smelled like smoke for days.

Wild horses aren’t forgiving. And on the porch of your basement apartment,

I held onto locks of your blonde hair like reigns.

Not even crisis, the thunder and the lightning arguing, could drag me away.

We were wild, wild horses galloping together,

if only when it rains.

A song can be like walking down a road

you never thought you’d return to.

But distance was never the reason I tried to turn a wild horse tame,

only to realize he’s happiest when he misbehaves.

No sweeping exits.

Even a picket fence can be a cage.

Still, when I hear hooves, I have no restraint.

Lyrics drop the distance between now and many decades.

I keep a lookout for the moon that never wanes.

At times, I think I dreamt you, but I often make mistakes.

What really happened is my wild horse got away.

GloPoWriMo#30: I didn’t quite keep pace with the pack this month, but here I am, sprinting over the finish line. Thank you to all my readers for taking the time to follow my poetic journey this month. I’m pleased at all the places it nudged me to go. Today, it’s all about nostalgia and this song just won’t quit. The challenge is to write a poem that also describes different times in which you’ve heard the same band or piece of music across your lifetime.