I am old.
Threadbare, gone.
A fragment
Faded  shades
I wasn’t.
I shouldn’t
Be like this.
For I am
Fairly Young
And should be
Vibrant, fun
Not quiet
And so old.

It was rude of me to leave
We were talking
Sadly, there is no rewind for life
That’s too bad
If there was I would use it
I wouldn’t leave
I’d go sit on the bench too
And we’d talk.

Small children crying
Music, TVs, are blaring
These walls are too thin.

She said it was fine
This business venture would make us
It didn’t.
Not I’m standing here
In a forest of boxes
Where the house is cold
The lights aren’t off be choice
Realizing that
We can only bring a few things

Would the sheriff come today?
November 20, 2008?
What would he say?
Nothing?
He’d just hand the notice over
What isn’t clear to me
Is how we get to here
Things were going so well
Trips, eating out, kayaks

Back standing in the bedroom
I go through the boxes stored
Way in the back of the closet
Memories of my childhood
Put neatly away
Stacked far from sight, not mind
All boxed up
Wouldn’t it be nice if
The memories were too?