The structure is a cartoon.
Beams burst out like watch springs,
floors flay like toothpicks,
joists now sticks cannot hold a load,
or be re-constructed back into
that intricate attic cathedral.
Even cross beams and braces
that once had the elegance
of a mantis now resemble
scrambled eggs, the
skeletal remains of
a hurricane’s destruction
Like sailors venerating
the safety of their ship, my house
channeled achievements
through libraried passages
showcasing galleries
of joy and hope.
No longer can we wake
to that cool blue room,
treadmill just so,
pocket door ajar and
enter a walkway leading
to an oversized bathroom.
Much went into
that renovated house
where countless paychecks
and sweat equity
made our little utopia
fit like-a-tee.
All that’s left is rubbish
and a blank sheet of paper.
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