Should they call me sentimental
for riding by your old place
to see the steps where you waited
for me on long ago dates
when I’d borrowed my dad’s Plymouth
as he always had allowed?
Should they call me sentimental
for thinking now about then
about your laugh, about your eyes
and those youthful, frantic days,
those visions cast in shadow light
from sunshine memories distilled?
Should they call me sentimental
for going by and slowing,
sensing strangers in your old room
where we sneaked from time to time
and pretended to be star crossed,
so happy in the moment?
Phil Huffy writes early and often at his kitchen table, casting a wide net as to form and substance. His work has appeared in dozens of journals, including Schuylkill Valley Review, Eunoia, Pangolin, Glassworks, The Lyric, and several haiku publications. He has published three collections of his poems and is proud to have recorded one of them, Magic Words, as an audiobook.
