Summers on Century

It was a house with bean-bag for chairs
a couch half-destroyed by use
cushions pushed down into its framework.
Kids half the size of their adult counterparts
wrangling drinks after hours
between sweaty heat-soaked walls
decorated with peeling green paint
we found a place to call friendly
to call home(?)
to be ourselves.
I was welcomed here as an outsider
considered for about 15 minutes
before being pulled unwittingly inside
held to a type of familial blossom
and pushed into living.
experiencing highs and lows
for each person that wandered through.
This place too was a classroom.
With adjunct multifaceted professors changing nightly
giving their sermons in front of a
running stream of constantly living entertainment
cultivating a type of personality
I have only my memories
to celebrate.

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