Let's build us a house out of playing cards and paint it with Bingo markers. Let's only talk to the people I like and the ones that love us. We can watch Golden Girls and sip Lipton sweet tea. When the phone rings we'll know it's someone who wants to visit, and we'll let them. But it will only be me and you in that house.
Even though in this house I've defied the act of gravity and kept our hair from going limp or the seasons from turning cold. I can only prevent pneumonia, I can only make cigarettes out of vitamins. So we'll visit Paw, but we can never have sleepovers. Even though I've found a way to keep all the stupid commercials off TV and only leave the funny ones, I can't take Paw's stone legs and make them light again. I can't turn those columns into femurs and tendons. So when we go to visit him and the fortress of other column men, you'll still have to leave and cry when you turn the door knob, walk in, and feel his absence. But, Mom says that's normal.
We'll build our palace out of royal flushes and diagonal Bingo victories. We'll go to the boats to play the slots and Paw won't ever tell us not to. Granny and Nanny will handle our money, now that Paw's away and unable. So we'll never spend too much on chances and we'll always have enough to eat out at those great seafood places we love.
I can only try to keep you thinking, I can only do my best to remind you how much I am right here and growing and not a stagnant memory in your head. I can only promise that as long as I can, I'll keep you at home. That, and keep you from getting pneumonia, you know how much that scared me.
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