I played in this lot when it was still wild
Next to our cornfield where all the autos stop,
Lined in even rows, a growing bumper crop,
High as my head, you couldn’t see over top.
We got lost in the maze crossing over time
With the herds in the Loft and Pottery Barn,
Behind the back forty and now the front nine
Where we planted in spring and harvested the fall.
We drove our tractors here before the backhoes
Tore through the fences and built another mall
And paved in this lot where I was a child.
Photo by the author