Goodbye
the white house
where they lived
where they carved the turkey
and hung the garland
and ate breakfast together
and cleared away dinner dishes
and slept warm in their beds
is empty now
possessions packed
in black garbage bags
stacked along the screened-in porch
where they used to sit
and watch the sun dip
Vivian with her book
and cup of tea
and Virgil with his memories
walking down the street in his beige coat
rounding the bend, making his way to the park
“I love to go there and watch the children play.
They remind me of when my kids were little.”
That’s what he used to say
TL