Alone, 1990

What a great, shadowed metal desk.
With it’s silvery steel handles and borders
Set in the short hallway, longer to small eyes
And ominous in the discarded basement air.
In that quiet displacement,
Old furniture, unused and likely unseen
By anyone outside of myself and habit, for a long time.
Dust flirted with all surfaces, coyly coating
Though Grand-mom did her best to keep it clean,
There was always a smell. 1940, 1950, 1960 but nothing further.
Time stood still for me too, leering at secret papers, folders weighed
Down upon the officious desk in front of me,
Ephemera unneeded, mysteries lost to retirement, kept until it all became
A lost relic of my time. And me ruminating in the dark
Alone, and happy to be there by myself, as I am now.
I wondered what treasures lay in the drawers, and recall
My dismay, my utter dissatisfaction to find
Only more useless kept papers, forms and old
Accounting equipment, corroded terminals and dead batteries.
My father told me that
I wasn’t supposed to be going through it, and even then it
Seemed to me that he had been in a similar way, younger
Going through his Father’s things, excitement there until
My Grandfather was upset that I had disturbed it, still
Alive then but very old to be angry at me and his son.
And now Grandpop is gone, and my father is old, and
Soon he will be very old too.

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