Points Of View
by Suzanne Sunshower
My mom hated my first apartment
perched high in the sky
over dying midtown. She said
I was paying too much
for a crappy view. For that rent,
I should be able to see downtown,
and its bold path to the future;
only losers dwelled on remnants
from the discarded past.
There was simply no use telling her
that I loved the place
because my friends never tired
of peering out the window with me,
to marvel at the old
Velvet Peanut Butter factory.
Empty and forgotten, it reminded us
of a time when every kid ate
Velvet; its hulking shell
helped us to see childhood fondly,
and with a grace far more charitable
than was probably deserved.
I also didn’t bother to tell her
when I finally moved out of there
and in with a popular punk band.
She never would have understood
that my life was big enough to hold
whatever I wanted it to.
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