We reminisce about the good old days.
We drop the F bomb like it’s punctuation.
We talk through concerts, movies, church and plays.
We act like God owes us a coronation.
What Used To Be Here is our favorite game.
The fucking subway is our favorite beef.
We act so blasé when we drop a name.
Stylish despair is our default motif.
We’re starving for good places we can eat.
Create a Get Real app, and we’ll install it.
The moment that our sneakers hit the street
Twenty-five bucks vanishes from our wallet.
Don’t ask me why, but Thursday is our Friday—
And our song’s not “New York, New York,” but “My Way.”
Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells