We bought the right house, only ten years old,
In the right neighborhood for the right price.
But then it all went to shit.
It was too much house
Too much space.
I could never keep up
With all the maintenance tasks.
Doors that didn’t lock
Windows like sieves.
Microwave handles kept ripping off.
Now it's the refrigerator with
A handle on the ground
After someone yanked too hard.
The ceilings are all starting to yellow
And the walls are streaked and forlorn
Like they’d been up crying all night.
The stairs have cracks in the seams
And the carpet is a vitiligo of stains.
The garden out back is overrun with weeds.
I ought to just plow it under
And sprinkle down handfuls of seed.
But it’s all so much work
Trying to make it my own.
Maybe it’s too late for that.
It already is what we have become.
Maybe it was always too much space
To fill, too much house.
Something smaller would suffice.
And I would like another chance
To not break something nice.