Standard Blueprints

On a napkin from the diner I trace a square,

then a triangle roof that I’ve seen in a book.

I add two small windows that have a blank stare,

and a door with a knob like a sharp, metal hook.

I’ve never had brick or a chimney with smoke,

or a lawn that didn't have glass in the dirt.

This version of living is mostly a joke,

a sketch of a safety that shouldn't feel hurt.

I’m waiting for the phone to start up its ring,

but the ink is just bleeding through white, paper lace.

It’s funny how people will draw the same thing

when they're trying to picture a permanent place.