Dress Up in Memories

We took a holiday in someone else's house,
a cottage on a cliff overlooking the sea,
salty spray eroding the rock below.
Eventually it will all deteriorate.
We won't take as long.

In this house, we dressed in the family's memories,
trying them on like oversized formalwear
we found in their closets, where the skeletons hide.

With posh accents, we invented tales
to spice up their routine celebrations.
We made their parties last longer,
their gifts more extravagant,
their announcements more shocking.
We drank their finest champagne and whiskey
from juice glasses and coffee cups.

Soon the bottles were empty
and our holiday ended.
We wore the memories home with us
over our T-shirts and jeans,
pretending we'd lived their life better.