Mucking

fifty years this house stood against the tide of generations leaving in its wake lizards and roaches still weaker we wield hammers and peer at each other through glass windows the masks went on hauling the debris of years to the curb we came here to rebuild we said, as the stove hung its head and the fridge slipped quietly out the door teal paint chips snowed in the kitchen but couldn't touch us in three hours the sun lit up soft brown bones we drove home as if home was external, separate from our work and we were so blissfully intact the walls had to come down first, he told us