In the summer of my success abroad
I made the choice to return to my hometown.
The cheers and adulation were getting to me;
all the world seemed to shiver like a gold drum
and I'd forgotten how to cry. So westward
I went, valise in hand, gravel scuffing my shoes.
Upon arriving I was shocked to find nothing
was the same: the houses had been repainted
or demolished, the fountain in the park drained
and repurposed into a rock garden.
The old birch grove was neglected and overgrown.
The townsfolk, too, were unrecognizable --
the children had grown up, the girls (all but one)
had become wives. I stood in the market square,
sweating in the hot sun, and marveled at the change.
Only the potholes and leaky pipes reminded me of home.