Potato Chips and dirt
Smelling chips and dirt
Reminds me if fishing with dad
Summer Saturdays

Summer Afternoon
Our faces sticky
Windshield view, bright read sunset
Endless talks with you

40s and forest
Green skies everywhere
Almost changing the way birds fly
They way your hair moves

Faded floors with a warning color
As if telling us to go slow and be weary
but no one ever listens

Acquired taste
Off putting at first, even sour
Soon you grow accustomed to it
Always running back reminiscing