They shared their first home with his sister
who shared her bed with communists
in crochet bikinis and LSD fog.
They shared their second home with 12 cats
who shared all the space between outdoors loo, garage
and a fir tree planted in the old fish pond.
In their third home, they shared
a sense of impending disaster from seeing the flood marks
on the cellar walls, way above their heads.
In their fourth homes, they share
boxes of dried thyme, milk teeth, empty rooms, musty
Vogue and Men’s Health magazines and his late mother’s unplayed piano.