What if I told you
you could have everything you wanted
as easily as icicles
falling off the gutters
of your grandparents’ screened-in porch?
And all it took was
a walk along the privet hedge
smelling privets
and dust, a sun that wasn’t your sun
because you weren’t in your town then?
What if I told you about electric blankets
and pianos, bananas and Cheerios, Paul Harvey
and the rest of the story? What if I told you
it’s all still there, somewhere,
if only you could get to it?