written by: Michael Shea
We only use the dishwasher once every two days now,
we used to use it twice a day; but now the kids have gone away.
We once had to fight for the remote but now we watch what we want,
if at all; there’s no one to say “Hey!”.
My wife can often be found passing the empty rooms, slowing down and touching walls; picking specks off the floors and I see tears in her eyes before she looks away.
I have to do all the chores now, dog shit picking, mowing, pond cleaning and those bloody solar panels; no one to turn to for me to say “help!”
Help me to shrug off the false sense of bravery that I am conditioned to display.
Help me to admit it feels lonely, but wait you say; it’s our time now it’s finally that day.
That day we never thought would come, last day at school, first day at university; moving in with this guy, that girl and having their own bills to pay.
There are two spaces in the garage now, I can park in the middle of the bay, no more toys to pick up, no clothes to spot on the bathroom floor where they could lay; more than a day.
As I write these words for what I thought would be funny a tear threatens to stray, I’m not so keen on finding a clever end to this one in some smart arse way. No not today.