Their House
Cars whizzing by on the freeway, a hundred yards away The creaky, springy garage door Rust-colored carpet Wallpaper patterns of apples and checkerboards The smell of bacon on a hot plate Whipped cream, iced over in the freezer A sprinkler shooting off a tripod Halls of singing, whistling, laughing A black fire pit that's never used The purple-stained deck A line of ponderosa pines, still growing Big trees with tiny green apples Leftovers sealed with shower caps A microwave that never reads the right time Pills hot glued to printer paper, labeled Naps with homemade blankets Stamps that have decorated a thousand cards It's quiet The cars still whiz by on the freeway, a hundred yards away