I could write a poem only for the four of us.
It takes place in the cold yet oddly cozy basement.
The earthy smell of the carpet dominating over other scents.
The vibrant packaging of energy drinks sticking out from other snacks.
Our booming laughter shaking the walls throughout the house.
The frigid winter air seeping through the basement walls,
As layers of blankets scatter the soft plushy carpet.
Sometimes we are illuminated with the amber glow of the fireplace,
Which occasionally would join us on a dead Friday night.
As I drive past and see a post wedged in the lawn;
I see the familiar brick house we all once called home.
Backyard, kitchen and the basement all being passed on.