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Poem

The house we lived in
Was someone's idea of a castle.
Stone and old cement walls
Ornate ceiling fixtures 
A faded marble foyer.
There were no buyers
So it went cheap
My parents were also practical.
There were two apartments 
Which meant a monthly income.
We lived upstairs
So as to not hear footsteps at night
Our rooms were small
And the walls retained a coldness
That lasted until summer
In the foyer
Near the door
Was a telephone
Perched on a small table
Big enough to lean on
In case the call
Became a conversation.
The phone itself
Was basic black 
Ordinary 
And indestructible.
Our TV was in the living room
We watched
The Kennedy/Nixon debates
And witnessed the trauma of Kennedy's assassination
The nation grieved
For the Kennedys 
But not for too long
Our attention was diverted
When the Beatles arrived.
It was the sixties
America was anxious 
And searching for something new to believe in 
And so were we.
Things changed
I left
My sister married
And our little brother
Inherited a room of his own.
Parents didn't change
They spent time
Dwelling on old memories and unpaid debts.
I visit the old place
Now and then
Driving by slowly
Long enough to see that 
The new family: 
Added an extension
Expanded the garage
Used up most of the back yard
Changes which I can't approve.
I still remember
When I lived there
How I was able to see the New York City skyline at night
Lit up
And full of promises 
Then
I would dream 
Of being someone else
And somewhere else. 
Once passing by the house
I imagined
The front door
Opened
I was tempted to walk in
And saw myself climbing 
The long staircase to the top
To look out and see
If the city lights
Still shone brightly
Beckoning me with her spell 
If so,
I would ask whatever happened to my dreams?

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