a quiet house wearing no lights, and
broken drapery haning sadly
on the windows, a beaten car parked
defiantly in the drive, the mailbox
numberless, and a porchmat reading
WELCOME
men built it long ago, and men only
build a thing with purpose
was it's purpose this? to symbolize
the entirety of any fightless life?
like indigestion, styrofoam, and cancer
successful failures. at night the porchlight
is still on. maybe he still hopes for
whoever left to come home.
maybe every creak and groan
knock and twist, crack and click
is a moment of a dream where it all
turns out just like he had thought it
would, before the world interfered
and he played and was played like the fool
it all walks on such a thin, thin line.
a quiet house wearing no lights, broken
drapery hanging sadly on the windows,
the air of chipping paint and unyielding
shrubbery, the mailbox numberless,
a porchmat reading
WELCOME
he was a bent, crazed, white afro-ed,
wrinkled and thin old black man
with no teeth, no mail, no visitors,
garden hose, no seasonal wardrobe
i have no idea why that porchlight
came on at night. maybe it was a sensor
or a timer. i don't think it was either.
i think it was a weak and lined boney
brown finger and a thread of life
beaten down to the determined delusions
of a man disintegrated by the loss of
love, dignity, pride and mind.
a quiet house wearing no lights,
a car parked defiantly in the drive
and a sadness that will live with
me forever
a memorial to what i could have been.
Birth sign: Cancer
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