Lunch, then open houses.
Ruth—a family name. Truth—not.
The 3.0 that we were. Went looking.
In the forsales—mostly cubed, with lids.
Father number two did research, his thumbs
ink-stained, licked.
I think we all enjoyed. The clean windows.
Shiny knobs. Bathrooms w/o brushes.
Garages without car.
The promise of built-in shelves.
Of insert family “here.” Where the highest
number of stairs, was,
we wanted hard, historic woods.
Put an elephant in those closets.
Swap cards. Loddy-dah. Our tradition.
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