And the Time Is: Poems, 1958-2013

To Whom It Will Concern

298 To Whom It Will Concern It bothers me that some day you or someone just like you will own this house. You’ll have a key—my key. You’ll paint the walls a different color, scrap the rugs and change my study to a storage room. Frankly, I feel already violated and upset. This place is more than property to me. My wife and I worked hard to make it ours. Her tulips, lilacs, mums and rhododendrons stop whoever’s passing by. I’ve mown the lawn for years and keep it free of weeds. Our maple tree that shades the porch was shorter than a putter when we moved here half a century ago. What’s that to you? You’ll cut the maple down, re-paint the bedrooms prison-gray, let all the lilacs die, then stack my study high with junk. Although we’ve never met and never will, I’ve had 299 my fill of you. Who asked you here? Who gives a tinker’s damn if you’ll pay twice the purchase price or more? I’ll go on saying what I’ve said before. I’m staying where I am. So take your bucks and scram. ...