Return Policy

You can never go back, some say
But I dared, despite warnings.

I remember a mansion of white
With a cornucopia of peppers drying
From the front porch eaves
But thirty years has reduced the palace
To a simple cottage
With a wee, rickety overhang
That could barely porch a chair
A few tiny peppers, long forgot,
Dangled in a paltry breeze.

The grand dining hall where armies
Supped on potted meat sandwiches
I crossed in mere steps.

And the grand living room,
Where a hundred battles waged
Between cousin-monkeys and uncle-king
Was reduced to a single recliner,
Twelve planks of wood flooring,
And a faded photo of a man long-dead.

The aunt-queen, never kindly, but never mean
Ruled beneficence over kitchen and den
Where succulent berry pies and
A dozen flavors of sticky-fingered Chopsticks
Concerted delicious cacophonies...
But Time had stolen her thin, tolerant smile
And replaced her with a withered, bitter widow

The vast fields where astronauts and Indians
Hunted dinosaurs and fled from the soggy-diapered Niece-a-saurus
Reverted to a few strides of sickly lawn

The time machines and weather control devices
Nothing more than twigs, stones, and feathers
Crammed into dusty boxes

As I began to despair all of the changes
In that moment of present presence
I was struck by realization
 The most terrible transformation

Was me.