Living in the Past
I lived on Gray Street when I was a boy
and rode my bike up hither and yon.
Now my home is a concrete parking lot
and all its spirits and souls are gone
I sang at Greyfriars church as a child
and learnt all about moth and rust.
I learnt nothing is permanent or fixed
and it too fell into rubble and dust
I jump and danced at the Country Club
when fete and revelry came to town.
Music played all night in the dance hall
but its colonial past was torn down
I worked at the old store on Broadway
inside its chain doors and iron cage.
But now it sits a vacant lot condemned
to history lost to a demolition age
I loitered and limed at the Pelican Inn
in my rum diary in younger days.
Up on Coblentz Avenue from its ruins
the inn that stood has been razed
I remember in my grandfather’s house
when voices did echo every room.
Now strangers walk among the dead
and feels more like a family tomb
I feel the evocation of spirit and soul
that these forsaken places outlast.
But I have watched life and time erase
the bricks and mortar of my past
Written: July 2025
Pictured above is Greyfriars Church
in Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago.
The church my parents got married
in and where as a child I went to
Sunday School. The holy church my
faithful aunts spent a lifetime of
devotion and service. All torn down.
All these places I knew are gone.
A fete is island speak for a party
and a lime is a social gathering.
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2024
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