Yesterday we crossed paths,
in what has seemed like nearly forever.
We exchanged a Merry Christmas,
and bitched about the sour weather.
Both growing up in Cleveland,
where December chills you to the bone.
All we talked about was leaving,
this rustbelt wasteland we called home.
As you pumped your gas,
we talked briefly about the those days.
When the world was in our pockets,
living reckless; coming of age.
Father time is unforgiving,
like the paychecks for which we toil.
Earning wisdom in our work boots,
cutting steel; refining oil.
If only we could relinquish,
those care free days of youth.
When we were children tying tennis shoes,
not these old beat up and muddy boots.























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