Stepping through the door, I stood
Met stale air scented with wood
Pausing, wondering if I could

Or would

I slid your pictures from the frames
Scratched out the notes that bore your name
Unaware when last I came 
It was farewell to what was same

A shame

The summer when you last were here
No summers more
And on the floor
Behind the chair
I noticed there
Dusty, yet not worse for wear
Your hipster hat we bought
We thought

A joke

Of straw
We laughed and then forgot
Unworn
Out of season
Now that winter’s come.