Misty dew-dropped memories seep
like secret smiles on youthful cheeks
brightened by the dusk's red sky
shining on a youthful eye
tripping down on gravelled pathways
towards the place where teen youths gather
dancing Thriller, zombie grooves
toeing moon dance pop king moves
Shooting pool, in laughing halls
breaking up the marble balls
pacman sings happy lament
to chocolate milk and cola drink
Quiet man behind the counter
smiling at a young boy's saunter
gentle woman gives advice
in a sweet familiar voice
Days gone by, teenage history
Quiet man now knows the mystery
gentle woman takes his hand
serenaded by the Thriller man.
When the news of Michael Jackson's death was reported an old friend of mine contacted me and told me she first thought of me, and all the times we walked to "Charlie's" which was the local pool hall and hangout in our hometown when I was a teen.
My teen years are filled with memories of that place, I can picture it now as if I were there, Charlie and Mae, behind the counter, selling cigarettes two for a quarter, candy, chips, pop.
They were ever patient and infinitely kind and sweet. Mae passed a way a few years ago and today Charlie followed. Suddenly I'm transported to the early eighties to a place where only memories can take me, and with the passing of Charlie it's as though that little memory, of dancing all the way to Charlies, reenacting Thriller with my girlfriends, has been wrapped and folded neatly and sealed in a gilded envelope and filed away in a special place now, as if my teen years have been stamped in the upper right hand corner, ready to mail into that difinite infinity I too will travel one day. RIP Charlie and Godspeed.
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