Compressor

The house has a way of getting too wide

when the sun goes down in the street.

There’s nobody left on the other side

to tell me it’s time to eat.

I stood in the kitchen with nothing to do

and opened the door for the light.

The milk was sour, the leftovers blue,

in the middle of a Tuesday night.

The floorboards shook under my bare heels

from the motor laboring deep in the guts.

It’s the only thing here that actually feels

like it knows how to stay in the ruts.