An Avenue
This avenue, the same as ones nearby
once rang to screams and laughter, hoots and calls,
toy planes and cap rockets taunted the sky,
and footballs kicked and bounced against shop walls.
In rows, the children stood ready to run
after the chant 'Please Mister Crocodile',
and 'British Bulldog' always was good fun,
they ran and chased, then sat to rest a while.
No chalk on pavements, hopscotch now old hat,
no snakes and ladders scrawled down someone's drive,
the children sit indoors, no time for that,
and stare at screens, 'till adulthood arrives.
They waste the thing one day they'll miss the most
their childhood, on the avenue of ghosts.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
