A Pome a Day for a Year

Strange days, some might say,
but this time I am coasting along to
light airy pianos,
beats of drums synthesised to gentle crunches
and visions of a road,
steeped on cliffs, speckled cerulean
above and below,
sunglasses shine as my hair tussles
a samba with the wind.

None of this happened,
at least, I have to tell myself,
for I can see it, I can remember it,
but when would it?
I was barely a teen,
early 90s that is,
and obsessed with Mario 2 (USA version)
so no driving capabilities,
nor holidays due to family finances,
so why can I be there?

It must be a continuance,
combination of media,
absorption,
my child mind longed for an escape
and melded the worlds I skipped in.
My 90s background a parallax
of realities, sliding at sonic speeds.