They are gone for the week,
Jangly balls of pre-pubescent chaos.
The house waits, still,
Anticipation coursing through brick mortar wood
I clean unimpeded.
Thinking of a soon time,
getting close enough
Horizons where they will depart
and I will clean bedrooms for the last time.
Remove the detritus of childhood,
tiny leopard purses, teeny shoes
bits of starships,
scraps of notes.
To make way for guestrooms
where there were once inhabitants.
Where I will pass the monkey bag,
And the house will