7/4

 When
 was this home? Hardly
 I recognize the heavy shelves,
 dust gathering on the books
 we read together
 once.

 Weatherworn the awning;
 the kitchen table deserted;
 you rarely leave the ez chair now,
 skipping from channel to channel to
 white noise.

 Buried in clutter
 the porch where I didn't yet
 dare to kiss you. You forget;
 you forget that you forget,
 curse imaginary friends,
 invent new enemies. How
 did I miss your mean streak?

 I don't think
 we'll have fireworks
 this year.