The Lost Boy

I no longer chase girls ‘round the field with a stick.

I grow—get in too deep, then get over it quick.

I went urban, then small-town, then back to the crowd.

I wear noise cancellation and turn it up loud.

My mind changes sometimes, and yet somehow I know

I’ll play the same tunes I loved lifetimes ago

While clothes, romance, game consoles collect dust or rot.

The ear can etch stones Cupid’s arrow cannot.