GRIEF Poem: Back at 3240, by Laiba Usman

I find myself back at 3240
Where we used to sit at the back table,

Close to the bathroom in case we need
A hit of nicotine or a visit with mary.

They replaced the wooden tables
With cold marble, erasing

Our initials we carved
Into these tables on all those weekends

Spent with cake pops and comics
We never ended up reading.

I’m back at 3240
And they changed the parking lot

We aimlessly walked around
under strained street lights.

The gas station has a new generation
of fiends who might go through the

same as us. Yet nothing is
the same here anymore.

Kids don’t walk here anymore,
Nor do they rome what was once

An aimless field of washed out
White parking lines

Nothing is the same, because we aren’t kids
anymore. We’re not sixteen

So you’re not here
And here I find myself, back at 3240