A poem? Ruth Book doesn't write poetry! :)
I pass
The house on the corner
Every morning as I
Walk to school.
School is as much the same each day
As the house on the corner
With the cracked foundation.
Little ever changes
In this place.
I pass
The house on the corner
With the cracked foundation
And crumbling steps
And wonder who lived there before.
Someone must have,
Someone trapped in
The inevitable monotony,
But who?
Maybe it was a pair of oldies,
Tired out of the monotony.
They may have worked their entire lives
And died there,
Trying to escape
The inevitable.
Perhaps, but it’s unlikely.
The house on the corner
With the cracked foundation,
Crumbling steps, and
Peeling Roof
Is painted a little too blue
For a pair of oldies.
Maybe, then, it was a
Young group of boys
Who liked to party
A little too much,
Trying to escape
The inevitable.
Perhaps, but it’s unlikely.
The house on the corner
With the cracked foundation,
Crumbling steps,
Peeling roof, and
Overgrown bushes
Is painted a little too blue
For a group of boys.
It could have been
A woman my mother
Would call an old maid,
With too many cats,
Trying to escape
The inevitable.
Perhaps, but it’s unlikely.
The house on the corner
With the cracked foundation,
Crumbling steps,
Peeling roof,
Overgrown bushes, and
Windowless frames
Is painted a little too blue
For an old maid.
I pass
The house on the corner
For the last time this morning
As I walk to school.
Tomorrow I step towards
The inevitable.
I must be careful,
For even defying the monotony
Can become routine.
As I pass
The house on the corner,
I look in the usually empty frames and
Notice they are full of glass.
A young pair of sparkling eyes
Peek at me from behind them
Before they are pulled away.
They are as blue as
The house itself.
A young couple walks out
The front door,
The owner of the sparkling blue eyes
Not far behind;
The husband carries
A set of pruning shears.
I wave as I walk by,
And wonder if they will paint
It green.
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