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.
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