Bo, the dog, I remember petting him,
And the old house, musty but the
Deck was my true haven for my heart,
Beaten up model cars my father
Painted into works of art.

The long driveways gravel, golf clubs,
Magazines, Time, Nat Geo, Hymns,
As well as a clay bowl in her hand,
And in the kitchen, sitting on the
Counter, the ocean filled with sand.

A tree was in the back I'd climb,
The odd-man-out wearing his feathered head
Dress was hidden by the closet door.