Mittens and Gloves

The wind blows hard

against this old building -
the windows rattle
as the wind whips the trees.

Reminds me of school
when the world was so big -
wintertime was enormous
for young ones in hoods.

Back then all that mattered
sat in the desks beside you -
The clothes, fads and boys
who liked who, who liked you.

As you grow up
your life expands -
beyond the blocks you played on
with a dirty face and hands.

When I visit now
the houses aren't as big -
and those so important
I've never seen again.

Yet when the wind whistles,
and winter touches my face -
I visit a blast from my past
that no longer is my place.