March 6, 2012

Must Sell

Around us young couples
keep moving in, making
first one baby then another,
strollers, push toys
left in the hallway, the garage
filled with cars built not for sin,
crowding out my restored roadster,
an old guy toy, eyed with envy
by the young fathers,
held in distain by weary mothers,
in every way more knowing
than their kin.
We must sell, move on again
to a place prepared for us oldsters
offering the peace
no children can bring,
expecting the days
to fall into each other,
led at last to the edge
of the readied pyre,
first for friends
then for us,
dressed as we were
when we came in,
prepared for the oblivion
tasted in sleep,
now finally come
to each one,
ignited by the helping
hands that changed us, impatient
this one last chore be done.