Act 4: Sweet Lord, Who’s at my door?

Rumbled, rumbled down the path to my street,
Tommy was cookin’ up the good.
Sweet, sweet lord I hope that when we meet
We reminisce about my childhood.

Summer corners hummed the music of the day,
My ears lay softly from the hooks.
Hopscotch and pop until the sun slips away,
But chalky ‘walks washed their looks.

Moons erode then rebuild we’d predict
A fate akin was ours at hand.
Porches and screens turned to artisan dreams
Over the value of our land.

Sweet, sweet lord I hope that when we meet
You feel you’ve known me from before.
Today I rumbled to my home on my street
And met a voice, “Who’s at the door?”

-A.P. Schmornoff

Watercolor by @claire_haupt

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