Someone Else's House

On weekdays, morning and evening, walking to and from the train, I pass by my father's huge Victorian house. Except it's not his house anymore. It was his house for fifty years, but he has moved to a senior living facility. He was 90, and it was time.

Anyhow, when I see the garbage cans empty at the curb, after their contents have been hauled away, I have a deep desire to pull those garbage cans up my father's driveway. I've been doing that for years. Except it's not his driveway anymore. I'd be trespassing!

I have to concede,
The feeling of ownership lingers
Long after the deed
Has passed to other fingers.