There is a U-Haul parked
In front of one of the houses
On Ashland Avenue. It’s not as lavish
As some of the others, climbing
Two stories instead of three
And painted a campy periwinkle,
But it’s still more magnificent
Than anywhere I’d ever dream
To live, and whoever owned it is leaving,
Shuffling their expensive belongings
Into a van and going somewhere else.

I don’t know why I ended
Up on Ashland Avenue to begin
With. The complicated politics
Of friendship and desire drive me to wander
Around the city until things sort themselves
Out, or don’t. I walked the most because of you,
Four miles every day in the steadily
Mounting Lexington heat. You placed
The palm of your hand flat
Against my hip-bone one night,
Said “I like these,” but the only reason
You could feel them in the first place
Is because of you, because of the foot-shaped
Shadows I wore into soles of my shoes
Trying to lockpick your smile.

But why Ashland Avenue?
Normally I feel envy too acutely
And looking at all these houses
I could never hope to afford
Makes me sick. But I wanted
It today, wanted to see what people
Who aren’t us, who are smarter and richer
And less impulsive, get to have.
There’s a couple maybe fifty
Feet in front of me, about my age,
Holding hands and Lexington window shopping.
I wonder what they see in these houses,
If they look like places where people live,
Hire U-Hauls, move out of,
Or like massive, empty dollhouses.
The only house I feel any allegiance 
With is one I’m not sure is inhabited
At all, probably grand at one time,
But now its cracking whitewash
Is overrun with vines.
It makes me think of us,
Of what we could be with the time
And the money and the know-how.
But even mansions fall apart
Without sufficient attention, people move
Away, family dogs sit in open doorways,
Staring longingly out at the lawns
They will never play in again.