laundry litters the laundry baskets across the laundry room floor
dishes not in the dish rack, not in the sink, holding hot lands of grease for ants to crawl
and the door's open
and the flies are coming
even if we say they are not
even if the carpet is clean
and we never swear
and all the pictures are hung slightly crooked, looking back at us
our thinner, unknowing selves
our less developed hair-dos and don't
our hadn't been down that road, that regret, that bold protuberance gushing
that embarrassing length of forgetfulness

grass clumps up in grass clumps in the yard
big rows of heavenly sneeze
and the cat scurries
and in the guest room
our somber guests
act as if they haven't seen
what of course
they haven't seen

and never once are any of us wiser
so we do it again
all down the barrel and grinning