I hadn’t forgotten about you.
I vow to visit you once a month
Until Boston and I go
Our separate ways.
I don’t know if you’ve been passed down
Or tossed around.
I saw your owner today.
Well, kind of.
As I ran, this time from the east,
Headed westward, on your side of the street
I stopped to take a photo of you.
You still looked great,
as I assume you always do,
But the light streaked across your fac(ade).
Anyway a photo fails to give you justice.
Your owner’s silhouette perched in the window,
Likely seeing some intruder, me, pacing.
Ill give the owner these thoughts,
or poems,
or whatever these words are.
One day
That owner may not be the same
From today
Or tomorrow.
But anyone who lives in
The Blue House on Corey Street
holds a special place,
alongside the house,
in my heart.
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