New American Muscle

I was raised in the new America,
Our suburb named “ Colonial Heights”.
A smorgasbord of cultures dreaming;
New Pontiacs, to cruise summer nights.

The post war soldier’s sons
Were entitled, neighborhood football gods…
Conti’s, Cohelo’s, Grilli’s, Dias!
Looks destined to hedge their odds.

Some of us stayed close to home,
Others settled in locales afar…
Some obtained the muscle men,
Others found both. Some, just the car.

One by one our fathers died,
While these sons rebuilt the town.
Now one by one, they disappear.
Their passage makes no sound.

In time we lost our lives and muscle.
Cars rusted with no emotion.
Obituaries dropped like stones
Barely a ripple, in life’s ocean.

Still the Conti’s, Cohelo’s, Dias, Grilli’s
Remain threads so integral,
To my tapestry of verse.
Don’s death, the thread now pulled
Unraveling a universe.