SUNDAY CLOTHES

I wanted to go back but
there's no going back to,
now memories are a
friend to me,

by the empty lots and
strewn bricks, a reality
poverty depicts, the
memories of hide and seek
in gutted tenements,
of the adventures embarked
with glass in the park,

the abandoned cars and
garbage bins with suffering
flames, children games,
unsupervised stains
on Sunday clothes,

but the place where I lived
is there no more, now,
only a mental photograph
of a distant love,
that I am still quite fond of.