Estate Sale
Jan 8 2010


Paint darkens
floors scuff.
You can see the wear
of hands grasping
high traffic,
marks left
by sharp objects
ducked, or dropped,
sleeping dogs.

Years pass
edges fray
blind spot accumulate.
Until fashion leaves us behind;
so the place looks its age
and the smell of food won’t wash away,
molecules of home cooking
infusing the carpets, the walls.
First kiss.
Last rites.
Middle child.

The new owners will gut the place,
down to studs and drywall.
Because location is all that counts
in real estate.
Which is the least real thing of all,
as neighbourhoods rise and fall
and rise again.
While this house has been the constant
in all our lives,
a touchstone, we thought,
its value
indestructible.

Less than a week
as the contractor promised
and it’s gone,
like a hollowed-out pumpkin
the day after trick-or-treat
— the collapsing grin
as the flesh begins to shrink,
the vacant eyes
softening.

A highly desirable location
said the street-smart agent,
sizing-up the lot.
An excellent price.
I’ve yet to add up the cost.