We put the elevator in for later,
when pills queued up on nightstands
and rubber soles squeaked through halls.
It was an item on the master plan,
like the generator to keep things
frozen when the big one hit.
It came in handy packing for vacations,
easier than dragging luggage down the stairs,
a good place to store the vacuum.
My husband and I touched when we slept then,
two big dogs guarded the landing,
we liked sex better than television
and we never went to bed mad —
before my father lost his mind
and my sister lost her breast
and our broker lost the money
we’d saved so carefully
for later.
