I remember the summer when I was ten,

The first time I’d ridden a bike on a paved road.

A friend of mine, named Jill,

Lived in Cross Cut,

Something of a ghost town then,

But it had been an oil boom town

Deep in the heart of Texas.

It was easy to pedal and ride.

We stayed outside all day on our bikes,

And we, not once, saw a car or a person,

Just jackrabbits, and one lazy possum 

Came out at dusk and scared us,

So we knew it was time to go home.

I spent the night with her and her family,

And in the morning they introduced me

To pancakes with peanut butter on them

And store bought maple syrup.

And I told my family about it when I got home,

And we decided they must be

The richest ghosts in the ghost town.

And this afternoon, I’m riding my bike,

Thinking of you, (yes you),

And the way the world is going now,

And the way the wind is blowing,

I’m pretty sure this is a ghost town, too,

For I don’t see anybody moving around.

The streets are empty and the sidewalks are brown,

And the sky is an eerie shade of blue.

But maybe I’ll go spend the night with a friend,

And maybe I’ll have something new for breakfast again,

Like I did back then, and if I do,

Maybe I’ll come back and tell you ghosts all about it.

-jenn