From room to room,
Cellar to attic,
Patio to garage,
And all about my yard
I roam,
Thinking about my
Time alone.
I never counted brick or stone,
Not until the kids had grown,
And you outgrew me.

In childhood, space was a rarity,
Two to a bed,
Four to a room,
One toilet, bathtub,
Sink and baby.
“Life your **** so I can ***!”
Was a brother's common plea,
And often splashed on me.

First downstairs
Would get the toaster,
A two slice, two door
Open, closer.
On the counter rose
A column of bread,
Jam and peanut butter spread.
Last one down to the table
Got the heels,
And fed the baby.

Before we went upstairs to dress
We'd turn our **** to open flames,
Warm our cheeks, rub our frames,
And then clean up our mess.

We never walked to school in ones,
The Lynch mob travelled
As a throng;
Spilling from sidewalk to grass,
Singing silly songs.
On-comers found it difficult
To pass through such a gang,
We weren't rude,
No cuss, no fuss,
There was just
So many of us,
We had no room for more,
And Mammy started labor.

So, this empty house
I find I'm in
With every creak
With every wind,
Reminds me of
My crowded youth..
Yes, I'm not unhappy
To be alone,
And welcome visitors
To my home.