Walking on Laurel Street

My hometown has shrunk,
a shell of its former self
like so many of its inhabitants.
The streets are narrow now.
Sidewalks miniature versions
of what they were years ago.
Walking on Laurel Street,
nothing victorious about it.

Boards on storefronts,
Mexican clothing, boots, music
in windows of many familiar places.
One old candy store is still
hanging on after 100 years.
I take a time warp visit with its smells,
colors, names of treats, and the owner.

“Haven’t been here in 15 years,”
is what I say to the old man behind the counter.

“It’s different now, as you see.
Do you recognize the place?”
is his reply as he weighs the Swedish fish.

I’ve said enough, so I say, “Sure.”
But when I look down the street,
I can’t believe what has become
of the place and where did it
all go wrong?

I bite into the little coconut candies
called Irish potatoes. I want to tell
someone how sorry I feel
about how it all fell apart
and wonder why it is doomed.

“Get out of town, it’s a dusty road to nowhere”,
is what a friend wrote in the yearbook.
Off we went and kicked up more dust as
we left for a better way of life, not knowing
that our leaving only added to its downfall.