Speaking Of Collapse

My home continues
to fall into itself.
At least once a week
I see a paint flake
in the bathroom sink
and look up, can’t tell
where it came from, ceiling
looks the same or does it?
The sound of water rushing
through the walls and where
will the leak appear this time?
The wind shaking
the plastic sheeted windows,
moving the indoor plants.
The television talking nonsense
loud enough to drown out
the creaking and the screaming
of the neighbors as they in turn
collapse. A needle on the
front walk. Chore Boy
package in my trash bin. 
Watching how it goes down
beyond the desperation 
bird feeders, where all the sparrows
hang, happy and heedless of how close
the food is to running out for good.
I check the storage under the sink
and calculate how long
I can maintain their illusion
which is my own illusion
that if we make it to spring
it’s all going to work out. 

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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