There’s my house.
I’ve just come from out of town.
Finally, a summer at home.
Weeds. Dead branches. Patchy grass.
Did they put a TV in the living room?
Don’t they know it’s for conversation?
Are those Christmas lights still up?
You leave for a year and all has changed.
I wonder how they’ve painted,
And how big my cypress has gotten.
The garage is open.
We did build this house.
It’s alright to invite myself in, right?
13 years we lived here.
You’d think new owners would respect
Instead of pulling—frantically?!—a gun.
I love that color though.