sun yellow walls
more sad than
Pharrell Williams quick tempo
clashing with the rhythm of the bouncing ball
back and forth
across the net
held by duct tape
the scent of dog piss
and cigarette smoke
still lingers in the carpet
we picked up from the trash bin
down the road

the orange ball slams into
Peter Rabbit’s face
and the gold frame topples
electrical wires beneath
we hide our mess
in this house

this room lives in extreme
broken off from the home
a heater or AC unit
is all that stands in the way of too
he yells “shit”
as he misses for the umpteenth time
we giggle
like the children
we used to be.