Repairs keep me from writing
Poem 19, June 19
Repairs keep me from writing
When they moved in,
the carpet, low pile,
was new.
I said no pets loose in
the house to defile
but the words blew
in one ear & out
the other. I never
asked what fight,
in daylight,
in dark hours ever
possessed two people about
ten years past
the age of innocence
to become home
wreckers. The last
& only defense
they could muster like foam
on the sea
was to move away
& pay
nothing.