He’s taken down the oyster shells
That hung on the back porch,
and the photos from over his work bench.
He’s begun to empty the kitchen drawers
opting to throw out the old anniversary cards.
He said he’ll have to sell the chickens,
but, by the way he’s been leaving the coop open
I think he might just rather they wander off,
like he told the dog to do
when he defeatedly opened the door, late last night.
He forgets, at times,
whether or not he’s already had his pills,
with no one to help him keep track.
He’s facing his own mortality,
before reaching sixty,
and his wife,
high school sweetheart,
decided it was too much
for Her to bear.
Long gone is the harmony
of living side by side under the guardianship
of mountain sentries,
relentless and proud,
as she turned out to be,
however, without beauty
but all the ice,
demanding, in the divorce,
that he sell what was to be his final resting place,
their children’s fairy tale castle,
so she can have half the money.