It’s Not Much, but It’s Home

this   up 

  is grew 

  where i

grown immune to 

unwelcome glares 

a cash rich pocketbook on every corner 

and the loud echo of indifference that permeates the air 

nostalgic for the time 

before the 

snapping of deadbolt locks

sung me to bed each night

like a struggling writer

shades of red at their typewriter

noisy 

chain 

link 

and 

oxidized padlocks wrapped around like sunken tinsel 

the pitbulls are the ornaments? 

the rich history of this neighborhood is 

a painful 

stye 

temporarily blocking their 

|modern vision| 

i’m alone 

                     scavenging 

for 

    a 

four 

leaf 

clover 

among 

the weeds 

*thump thump* 

ma’am, your case has been

denied. 

spike  

a in the neighborhood value 

spike 

a in my blood pressure 

my 

mind 

enters 

a 

       di z z y   i     n       g 

                         w 

h  

i 

r 

    l 

w  

i 

n 

d  

i don’t want to put my whole paycheck towards my house, anyway. 

as my new neighbors pry up the drab, once-blue carpet from their front porch i wonder if they know the story of the family that lived there before them before this was an “UP & COMING!!” neighborhood 

i wonder if they notice the faint paint color of the door they’re replacing? if their noses detect the spicy, rich mahogany memories they’re scraping away? 

i can hardly watch as they tug tug tug and 

riiiiiiip rip rip at the native buttonbush in bloom.