The House on Hillcrest Road

Chasing memories
Like cats in the yard 
Present and meowing
But refusing to be held

A TV in a corner
A chair in front
Hours spent playing Nintendo
Tetris was my confidante

Sunday supper
House aglow
Pasta bowls and coyote calls
Can’t go out at night

The clank of metal tools
Drops of oil and grease
Building and fixing
Always with hands, tools be damned

Shake and bake
But dad says it’s no good
Stuffed peppers before brownies
Late night spatula licks

A signed baseball sitting on a shelf
Collecting more dust than autographs
Below it buzzes an old television
And the serenade of striking out

Totter down the rickety staircase
Spooked by the shadows dancing down below
Was that a cat or was that a ghost?
Maddy says ghosts aren’t real

Find the drum set
Then the drum sticks
What’s a beat?
Beats me, just play

Sleep under the quilt, not on top
Don’t mind the dolls
Sure they’ll watch you sleep
But they don’t mean any harm

Donuts in the morning
Don’t tell mom
Folgers brewing loudly 
Bubbly brown bitter grownup stuff

Memories break and fall away
Like the stone steps in the back
Worn and weathered, chipped and broken
But what if that’s all that’s left?