Stolen Dimes
My jumbled thoughts inside
A runaway Mack truck
Plowing through a spent corn field
Just East of my childhood
And that damn soda machine
At the gas station
That stole my dimes
For the promise of a cold bite
Of a Coke
On endless hot days
Without school, a job
Or sense of purpose.
I close my eyes to the ping
Of hot metal.
Very nice.
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Thanks.It’s funny how memories of long ago morph into current day, or is it that the long ago is always present?
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The long ago is present both consciously and unconsciously. The stuff that we remember is subject to a warping of sorts, because that is how memory is. That is not to say we can’t recall in precise detail, because we do, just not as often as we think. Dimes played a part in my youth as well, so your poem felt personal.
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Yeah, dimes were important to me as well for a variety of reasons. Thanks for your thoughts.
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