AN ABANDONED HOUSE DEMOLISHED
The house just collapses.
I feel like the ground pulled out
from beneath it. I’m soil and
rock and foundation, suddenly to
the left, the right, of where I used to be.
People just stare disbelieving
as the scenery gives way. No occupants,
of course. But there’s always occupants.
Someone must have the keys to space,
somebody strains with the weight of nothing
on their shoulders or wears a Sunday dress
that leaves them naked as the light.
Been empty for years, a stranger says.
So I’m the fire that drove the family out.
Or the rat that nipped the baby’s ear.
I’m too cold, got sick, lost job.
I’m drugs and break-ins, fights and scares.
Ultimately, no one could keep up with the taxes.
Look at me: drab face, rough hands…I’m taxes.
Come with your emptiness. Pay me now.
