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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