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.