, January 19, 2022

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The Home Alone is in Pain


  •   1 min read
The Home Alone is in Pain
by Vincent R. Pozon

It creaks open with a humph
and a downturned lip,
the greeting of a house
left uninhabited,

like a gumamela past its bloom,
the house sulks and shrinks,
it pulls a face more felt than seen,
and disassembles,

the hardest of hardwoods darken
to a pout; tegula roof tiles bought
with the promise of 'for life'
slide off and fall,

the sulk is subdued when you are there,
though you might hear a grumble
in the pipes, a painting decides to leap
from its tethers,

while dogs are articulate
with woof, whimper and friskiness,
the house can only cause a creak,
can only moan,

windows slam, fluorescent lamps tilt,
but not in pique, for the house only seeks
to harm itself as the unvisited
often do.

It was audience and venue f
or mirth and many, and now,
unkempt, it has the brittleness
of the formerly loved,

ay, we break the bodies of those we love and leave.


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