Dead Air

The radiator is doing that thing again,

shuddering like a dying engine

behind the peeling white slats.

I dragged the space heater out,

tripping over the cord.

Behind the nightstand,

where the dust bunnies are thick as felt,

I found a socket that isn’t there.

Six layers of eggshell-white latex

have choked the life out of the wall.

One thick drip of dried paint

is stuck in the bottom grounding hole,

a blind eye staring at the carpet,

refusing to take what I'm trying to give it.