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Red House

April 28, 2013

Red House

He’s the old man

inside the red house,

ninety-four now

and alone.

.

He’s tucked away

within those red walls,

white beard flowing,

growing long.

.

Spends the time up

in his old bedroom,

all around him

photographs.

.

One of Lisa

who had just left him,

echoes of her

laughter fresh.

.

One of Rita,

gone now for decades

though her spirit

lingers still.

.

And there’s one of

his sweet youngest son,

dead at fourteen;

broke his heart.

.

I go over,

bring him some brownies,

take the garbage

out at night,

.

Listen to him

tell all the stories

of his life in

days gone by.

.

And sometimes when

I’m leaving him, he

says good-bye my

Baby Boy.

.

He’s the old man

inside the red house,

ninety-four now,

and alone.

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4 comments

  1. A beautiful poem


  2. awww. True story?



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