The aging house

The house keeps me awake
with its groans. Like an old woman
whose joints have hardened. I lie
still on my bed each night, listening to her
slowly stretching out each stair,
sometimes sighing softly,
sometimes gasping in pain.

Windows let themselves sag,
the door hangs a little loose.
Hinges mutter to themselves.
Venerable walls
carefully massage their corners.

But the dark cupboard is deaf
to murmurs of decay. Inside,
young hangers make steely love.

One response to “The aging house

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