I’ve got a pretty homely home.
It lacks all pretension
But I really don't think there's a lick of shame
call it homely but homey.
It knows that it will never sport fancy granite counter tops
Or a Tuscan facade
Its harvest gold shag
(which dates to the time of Tony Orlando)
best day will never return
that is,if it ever had one
and it's okay with all that.
One working bathroom
or occasionally working
It’s small
like the closets
and kitchen.
Built by a Navy electrician
In 1970
A no nonsense guy
who favored utility
over any other considerations
And plunked down a box
in the middle of the grove
in a forgotten valley
and a town
where most of us
honestly
just came to hide.
The house never cared much what other people thought
and frankly
neither did I.
After a point in time
it let us know
we were through entertaining
Things stay piled up in a house this small
but you get used to it and make accommodations
with what is; the realm of the possible
and I'm sure it feels the same way about me.
Never fixed it up much
thought I would replace it one day
When my treasure ship of
unidentifiable origin
finally sailed into port
But I missed that boat
and somewhere along the way
stopped caring
or looking elsewhere
content
to
accept its deficiencies
as it accepts mine
we’ve got deep roots together
this house and me
we've grown old together
And when I exit this mortal sphere
I would be extremely happy to sleep
with dogs Barfy, Odin, Duke and Max
Under the giant live oak tree out back
our resting souls will keep.
