To My Old House

Nothing to do one day,

Crouched on the ground

Watching the washing machine

And the tumble dryer.

I could feel the rumble,

Rumble on the concrete

Flecked with paint;

Cobwebs lingered overhead

In the outhouse

Of this old house;

A tall creaky house

Where I never felt alone,

Where meat hooks still hung

And basement steps led to nowhere.

I could hear through the walls

Of this old house,

I could feel through the windows

The cold wind

Blowing us through the halls.

It felt like sometimes

We were only blown around,

Tossed about like the clothes

In the washing machine,

In the tumble dryer.






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