Borders

I remember sweet morning air
Fragranced with growing things
Earthy scents
Mixed with the aroma of coffee
Wafting from the kitchen
Where my father sat
Smoke from his cigarette
Floating in shafts of sunlight.

The morning news
Mingled with the static of its AM signal
Issued from our radio’s tiny speaker.
Beyond our window
A neighbor’s lawnmower buzzed
The tang of fresh-cut grass
Adding to the bouquet of morning.

I was a child
And free to mount my bright red bike
To patrol the boundaries
Of my expanding world.

The Burlington tracks beckoned.
I would search for railroad flares
And maybe a rusty spike.
A penny
Flattened on a rail
Would prove my daring
Prove I was there
Alive
An explorer no less eager
Than Columbus or Magellan
Mapping his ever-growing world.

What became of the wonder of it all?
When did the smells change
The sounds dull
My senses tire?
And what became of my treasured penny?

Expanded borders
Are not the same
As giant worlds.