Lights danced across the
gloomy fog-covered streets.
A burst sounded as if a
rocket ship shot off.
Laughter erupted, exploding
underneath a street lamp.

A dusty pale yellow
colored ball soared.
Ladies rushed on cobblestone…
dresses held high.
A driver shouts, “Move outta the way!”
rolling over the cobblestone streets.

Lanes filled with millions of bodies,
crowd the streets.
A child darts, skidding for
the tumbling yellow ball.
Lashing out, the driver
turns the wheel, still blinded.

A boom explodes, people scurry…
flames burst in the sky.
Locals run to help,
but all that remains is the sun-colored ball.
A mother’s tears fill
the cracks of the cobblestone streets.

Limited stories remain of that day and today
I struggle to remember the stories passed down to me.
All that is left are the written stones
with the letters A and L left on the cobblestone streets.
Lights darken, and the
noise settles...in memory they rest.