John Grochalski

my parents tell me
that this is my house
but i don’t want it
it’s not even the house that i grew up in
so i have no fond memories of the place
it’s my parent’s house
their post-me home
they want me to have it
have the books and knickknacks
sell it all off if i want
just give half of the money to my niece
i ask my parents why they don’t just
give their granddaughter the house outright
but they say
what if she’s not of age when we die
because my parents always seem
to be preparing for death these days
then give it to her parents
but they shake their heads
we don’t trust them, they say
the house is yours, they say
at least half of it is
but i’ll be mowing the lawn alone
and making home repairs in total, i tell them
paying property taxes against my own bank account
finding a realtor, i say
trying to sell the place all by myself
my parents nod
acknowledging the burdens of being the eldest son
i tell them this is why i got out of this town and moved to brooklyn
so that i didn’t have to mow a lawn
or caulk cracks in the basement
or call realtors
i tell them i moved to brooklyn for that and a million other reasons
that i love concrete and cacophony
the loneliness in tall buildings
i stop talking to let my parents take this in
i drink half of my beer and wait
i want to see if i’m clear and getting through to them
but all they can do is shrug
tell me again
that this is my house
for better or worse
one day this’ll all be mine.  
©2012 This work is the property of the author.

Posted on December 12, 2012, in John Grochalski, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. The first of a new batch of poems from John Grochalski. I think he manages to mine the depths of something found all the time but something which usually slips through the cracks. That’s a rare talent, to capture, in the moment, the emotional essence of long-established relationships.

    Read John’s other good work by clicking the link and following “Older Posts”:

  2. A ribald sentiment of Brooklyn inheritance builds up to a materialism waver with a concrete and cacophony of an enterprising writer among knickknacks, books and taxes.

  3. Did they also say, “You’ll understand when you’re older”?

  4. … you can’t escape the ‘burbs …

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