Yellow, white trimmed, bungalow-style,
It doesn't seem like much.
But seeing the house at 818 West Ash
Reminds me that once
You bought it with her
Had dreams of filling it with kids,
Landscaping the backyard with field stone
From your family's farm.
And after she left
Sitting in the living room
We drank icy Bud Lights
From glass bottles clinking on our teeth
I tried to make you laugh
Because I hated to see a grown man cry
You smirked, commenting that now
You could afford to install central air.
I see now that it never got done,
Along with the landscaping of field stone
In the backyard.
I wonder if the family who owns
Your house now realizes
That a good man lived there once,
Dreamed to the hum of a window air conditioner
And gave everything he had to offer
For his country in a foreign land.