Dream House
by Michael R. Burch

I have come to the house of my fondest dreams,
but the shutters are boarded; the front door is locked;
the mail box leans over; and where we once walked,
the path is grown over with crabgrass and clover.

I kick the trash can; it screams, topples over.
The yard, weeded over, blooms white fluff, and green.
The elm we once swung from leans over the stream.
In the twilight I cling with both hands to the swing.

Inside, perhaps, I hear the telephone ring
or watch once again as the bleary-eyed mover
takes down your picture. Dejected, I hover,
asking over and over, “Why didn’t you love her?”

Keywords/Tags: dream house, divorce, parting, separation, shuttered, weeds, trash can, mover, movers, moving, rejection, relocation

I'm a mover and a shaker that hasn't found her groove.
I've got plans and I've got dreams but I lack the motivation.
One day I will pick myself up,
and slowly but surely,
I will start bopping and jiving,
to the sound of my own drum.
But until then,
I'll sit back and watch others,
as they slide and glide,
into the lives they've created for themselves.