I’m going to miss
this dumpy house.
It has scars,
like I do.
It’s old,
like how my body feels.
It’s got a soul,
and I probably have one of those, too.
This house has a memory
that is clearer than mine;
it’s been sober longer,
and alive
much longer–
it probably has me by 20 years.
Even though it’s beat to shit now,
it was worth close to a million,
at one point.
In this crazy rich and popular town,
the housing market swings to the
unpredictable pendulum—
that is the western economy.
In this long dying
democracy,
we surf the waves of money;
and sometimes,
we have to swim furiously
just to stay afloat.
30 days to find a shore.
30 days to find new walls.
30 days of swimming in a storm.
30 days to find a new home.
I’m sure,
that if I keep pumping my legs,
I’ll find a new home.
It’s just that,
I’ll miss this one.
But, I guess
that’s what happens when you get suddenly evicted.
-C.H.
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