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
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