poem

McMansion

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.

Patching holes

Sealing leaks 

Clearing clogs 

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.  

5/31/21