if you don’t want me to wave, to wonder

why every night you stand solemnly beside

a 70’s beige couch,a couch

that was probably carried

stork-like by three tall, strong men

from your grandmother’s house.

Why do you stand

when you could be sitting?

Why do you watch the tv screen

like it is your dad? Or your savior?

Why there are hundreds  of boxes

stacked to the attic, every wall,

occupying more space than oxygen?

Were you sent to the garage one day

by your loving family, to unload the pans,

the legos, the summer clothes, the pins, & needles.

Do you now only pretend to look for these things

to hide from them? You stand up

to watch so that you can look busy quickly

if someone steps outside.

Or maybe your entire family is dead,

and all that is left of them

Is their junk, piled haphazardly

In boxes, surrounding you like

Layered blankets.

Or maybe you’ve never been a dad,

never held your own child in your arms,

never loved a woman more

than you could ever love yourself,

Maybe it’s been so long since you’ve seen

People, you wouldn’t know what to say if you got the chance,

Or maybe you are tired of people