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