The house,
Rotting wood on the front door steps
Wears and tears had done decades on it
Where plants were once watered
And the newly wed couple entered and left
Where memories were made
Each hand print, nook,
A memory for one
A scar for bystanderards
A neighbourhood made poor
Was once rich with fresh paint
And the sounds of children’s laughter
I bet it kept you up at night
The children’s heightmark on the door frame
Ears pressed against walls
Now hollow
With streets that are empty
You would give anything to see chalk in the drive way again
Now these days the third cigarette lights
First one, after your last kid left for college
Two, after they got married
Though the suns rises and falls
Each day where you let it
It packs a lingering smell
Empty dishes and dust pack on the window cell
Each one, a year goes by
