Our nostalgic past,
prized for romantic simplicity,
hovers vaguely in my mind
as if seen through glass eyes.
Wall photographs at Line’s End
present a bland two dimensions,
not stirring true sense of times
yet awakening my imagination.

I journey aboard Shelby #167,
downtown to Fountain Square.
Morning sounds enfold me
as the city rolls over from sleep.
Opposite me, a woman of interest,
face etched in invisible scars that
mark her husband’s loss in war
(a common wound in these days).

Her living eked by tending bar,
it is too early for its opening;
but she hopes for some shopping
and a matinee at the Granada.
Too soon, it will be work again.
These few moments of diversion
to scarcely relieve her loneliness –
future memory from nostalgic times.

I consider her face from Line’s End,
pondering what photographs now
might grace walls in 50 year,
viewed through nostalgia’s prism.
Will any accurately convey
a trueness of what life really was
to that new generation’s eyes
looking only for the good old days?