Thoughts of a Man Dying Alone at Home

i hope they don't push in the kitchen chairs. i built this house from a one-bedroom apartment to a home, with the touch of a good woman floors packed down with the heavy stomping of two boys learning floor hockey. i lived here. i hope they don't make the bed. i never have and i never will has always been my - i never will. i dug a hole for the pool, filled it with sunburns noodles, tubes, splashing, summer nights after the sun went down shoes and clothes by the back door. i lived here. i hope they don't put away my TV Guides or tidy up my recliner pocket. i filled the cracks in this driveway with band-aids to cover skinned knees paint flecks from the garage that started red but turned white with age. i lived here. i hope they don't put my favorite mug back on the shelf where i have trouble reaching it. where i had... i hope they don't clean, vacuum, sweep, scrub, sterilize, paint it fresh to make it seem new again. i collected this dust and those scuff marks around the corner of the stairs and the dent in the wall we hid behind our wedding photo. i hung these memories. i tore down the wall in the bathroom and the one between me and my boy. i lived here. i built this house. i lived here. i lived.

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