My childhood, near-forgotten, is not
quite gone yet.
It's in the t-shirt I bugged my mom
three months to get,
An old backpack covered with keychains
and stickers,
My rusting-round-the-edges Tonka truck
and cherry-picker,
The chewed-up old baseball I found in a
pine tree while mowing,
Ticket stubs for fifty places that I
don't remember going.
The toy locomotives from my Christmas
past still run.
I can start remembering that childhood
was not entirely no fun.
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