No More

No more guys and girls happily driving

open-air convertible cars on weekends

free of seat belts tethering their bodies,

sweet winds swaying, fighting and playing

with their loose hairs.

No more

children walking on the streets to school,

carrying their notebooks in their arms,

not in backpacks and not on buses.

No more

bicycling around only for pleasure,

without protective helmets and gloves.

No more

family sitting on the front porch after dinner,

sharing the latest neighborhood news.

No more

walking in the fields under the moonlight.

No more

fresh milk bottles delivered to the house, but

milk boxes at immense supermarkets, with

sleepless cameras furtively watching over us.

No more

letters, no business letters, no love letters,

only e-mails to be lost in cyber space.

No more

people greeting each other, even without

knowing themselves.

No more

parents and all sons and daughters together

going out at night, also together to the church

every Sunday morning, and, every night, sleeping

at home at the same time.

Published in Indiana Voice Journal, February 2017 issue.

Published in Tree House Arts, Jan 31, 2018

Photo by Marion Posto Wolcott

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