A prose poem about looking back.
Days gone past.
Remembering past movies, mindsets, and a sense of public decorum.
And, okay, a few ties to other works. I think I can get away with that last word….
But nothing is ever perfect. As we remember it. There are always dark shadows (pardon the veiled pun).
Change is what it is.
This poem has never been published. Probably should have stayed that way.
The Way We Were
© F. P. Dorchak, 2003
We would never die and never grow old
Polite to each other
NYC known for publishing, Greenwich Village, “The Big Apple”
HIV was no more than just three letters in the alphabet
Gas was under a dollar
Our dreams were on fire
We could change the world
Nothing could get in our way
Stephen King was It
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