I wrote this one a couple weeks ago.
HOME AGAIN
It’s been said that you can’t go home again
I decided to see for myself, so I went back
Back to the places that shaped me
The places that for so long defined my life
They were still there, still the same
Yet somehow different, somehow changed
The house I grew up in seemed smaller
The tree in the front gone, the shed in the back dilapidated
The elementary school still stands, but it too has shrunk
So have the baseball fields where I used to play
The junior high is now a community center
The posts with dirt on top replaced by benches
My old high school has been torn down
Replaced by a new one that looks like a prison
The small town has grown into a sprawl of suburbia
Where it takes forever to drive anywhere
The chicken house has no chickens or eggs
The “giant” hogs are gone from the pen
The path up the hill through the pasture is overgrown
Just a few cows still wander the hillside
The old house has hot water now
You don’t have to heat water on a wood stove for a bath
Cell phones have replaced the old crank wall phone
Where you listen in on other folks’ conversations
The old mules are no longer around
And the smell of Paw’s pipe is long gone
The old wooden church we used to visit is gone
Replaced by a larger brick building
Family names still dot the old graveyards
New ones have been added
They say you can’t go home again
You can, but it’s not home