Giggled with glee running down a cobblestone street,
full of youths joy and always upbeat,
there was football in the park with all the neighborhood kids,
and daredevil bike jumps and attempting long skids.
Asking parents for our friends to come out and play,
or knocking on doors and running away,
and we would kick tin cans all around our homes,
innocent childish pleasures and prepubescent hormones.
I remember mothers pushing prams and wailing babies,
and saw girls in the park making chains of daisies,
I heard the screeching of brakes and slamming doors,
and being bored on Sunday's during summer downpours.
Our clothes were hand me downs or from the local flea market,
we were lower working class bereft of savoir faire and etiquette,
moths would always be fluttering around a dim streetlight,
and mums and dads would tell scary stories on Halloween night.
Any old wood would make castles, tree forts and bonfires,
and in the local woods, we searched for lions and tigers,
on hot summer days we pop the bubbles on road tarmac,
if we were cheeky to the wrinkly old folk, they would say I'll tell your mum to give you a whack.
Mum would keep us from school if we were a little sick,
and granpa would play his old time jazz music,
we loved to stick our tongue out when it began to rain,
and finding a long stick was used as a walking cane.
We always ran home from school for our tea and watch the telly,
on Sundays we had roast beef and custard and jelly,
we laughed out loud at our favorite cartoons,
and we looked forward to birthday parties and popping balloons.
We screamed in the park on the roundabouts and swings,
and ran down hills pretending to be a fighter plane, using our arms as wings,
if we got a kiss from a girl, it made us feel heroic and special,
especially if they were pretty and a face full of freckles.