Would be, according to schedule, paid off
This year. Will it be? Do they still live there?
You only ask since thirty years ago
You sat in a meeting one afternoon
Next to Kyle, making chit-chat, and he said
It was trippy to have bought their first house
Because when they were signing the papers
He realized that the thirty-year mortgage
Meant he’d be sixty-seven by the time
It was done. Weighty thought for him and you
Who was several years younger, barely hired
To the same position he’d held for years
And in no position to a buy a house
Yet. A year later, he and Deanna
Had a daughter. The last time you saw them,
Not quite a decade later, they were still
Living in the same little bungalow,
Dark but rather charming, with hardwood floors
And large porch, in a decent neighborhood.
Their daughter was a quiet, spindly girl.
Kyle was still alive a few years ago,
Working in the same place on the same things,
According to an old friend on the phone.
You forgot to ask about Deanna
Or their daughter, who would now be the age
You were the afternoon Kyle leaned over
And said, It was weird when I realized
I’d be paying until sixty-seven,
Grinning and shaking his slightly gray head.
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