Slick

The smell of pavement dripping after rain,
Cut with a little oil in the air,
Brings me back to youth. I feel the drain
Of fifteen years dropping into nowhere,
And I am playing by the street again,
At the old house, with the shorter fence,
Laughing with my friends. A young me, then,
Only half-grown in both body and sense,
Would chase balls to the street and dodge the cars.
The smell returns me, but I cannot play
As once I did; maturity disbars
Such folly, and it's better in a way:
I'm safer now. But oh, the fun we had
Even if the things we did were bad.