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