My street 

No one called it White Sands

Not even those who lived there

Dirt streets that dead ended

north side of the creek.

Houses where the oldest son

never had his own room

only a Castro Convertible

to dream his dreams.

Billy and me BFF

walked the beach

the last night of ‘59

knowing we would leave.

We were seventeen

young and strong

and we would get cars

and meet girls and

tomorrow it would be the sixties

and John Kennedy

was gonna be President

and he was gonna change the whole world.

I left White Sands but

Billy BFF never did

and when I went to say goodby

to the streets we ran

when we were young

the white sand was covered by

a Home Depot parking lot.

Funny how they called it White Sands

after the earth was covered

along with dreams.

I guess for sentimental reasons.