John Lennon

Our souls grew warm,

as the radiators began laughing,

sputtering to heat our new home,

all the rooms we dreamed of—

The one I’d hoped would be your office,

one brimmed with the anticipation of books to be read,

now lies lost to another necessary roommate.

The kitchen  stretched too tightly

under the burden of  overuse,

stained with dry wines and dawn brewed coffee.

The living room lined with

hand-me-down couches covered for the dogs

and rugs worn from nervous pacing.

The mailbox where I found my things,

mailed back as I walked home alone

from another night out near the neon.

But there is still the corner

where I always planned to sip scotch and think,

I use it often on the quieter evenings.

There is so much to love in a first home—

One day I will sit and laugh poems

along with the radiators and

all those half chased dreams.