skipping town


within that one acre it was my job and it was my home
at the laundromat near the trailer
with a pipe that pumped sewage out of the dirty clothes
into the ditch near the water tower
the wooden deck having become weak with time
no longer sophisticated and easy to fall off of

from an earlier flood the floors had given out
and the bath tiles had fallen from the shower walls
leaving nothing but a hole above bare soil
cleaning against the drywall and curious cockroaches
the fountain having decayed just short of decades

and linoleum had surrendered and broken beneath kitchen tables and carpetted bedrooms
plastic excuses for what we had stepped over at the time
through the rooms without locks or doors
the wood panelling thin and hollow

between here and there were piles of gravel and dirt for the children to play over
dead shrimp and dead fish for the dogs to roll across and scrub with
and the children, with consideration, washing the foul smell from the otherwise loyal animals
eventually, the unawareness having been bled from them personally
allowing property and dignity to be no longer foreign
and skipping town shortly after