Milan by Suzanne Coley Just where my long road started out, it ends. I stand alone and see my childhood town Calling its kids and saying goodnight to friends. And now the ruffled window shades draw down. Old men and women, slumped in easy chairs, fold up their papers, yawn, and cease to talk. I know that only a tireless streetlamp cares Where I, a ghost with fisted pockets, walk. Shadow and I, we play a little game Of hide-and-seek, as we have always done. Ten years ago I had a boy's nickname, Voiced in the streets and known by everyone. That name, those years, companions that I had -- Channing the fiddler and the girls next door, The roughneck gang that drove my father mad, Trampling his flowers in their relentless war -- Where are they now, so dear and out of date? Old men and women yawn but do not stir The burned-out embers, and the hour is late Someone is calling but I can't see her. "Sneakthief!" she cries. ...