August 20, 2010

The Bungalow Mystery

It's lunge is no surprise--
the wraparound porch--
pillars like salt,

like pyramids
leave shocking shadows
in the yard.

Low--leaning--unalive,
it foams over
in ridiculous trim.

I'd like to take it down
to boards and nails,
to the rotten core beneath

the rocking chair.
Are you kidding me with this
crafty skulking--

I'll count to ten again,
then track you
by the beating heart,

by the squeak in the third step,
the toothy gap
of the missing pane.