Memories on Maple Street
My grandad had a place near the end of Maple Avenue.
This was small-town life in the early seventies.
My mom had sadly just passed away, and I was far too young.
My dad had a lot on his metaphorical plate; shift work, farming.
He wished for things to be different, but they weren’t.
He made the decision to pull me from our house on the farm,
Brought me down to grandad’s…