A Lack of Settlement

The streetlamp is a witness outside

cutting a yellow wire through the hall.

It finds the space the house tried to hide

where the wood won't meet the wall.

I folded up a grocery store flyer

and jammed the news of cheap beef in the crack.

The wind is a thin, high-pitched liar

and the cold keeps pushing it back.

It’s not just the hinges or the pine,

it’s the way the foundation decided to slide.

I’m living on a crooked, slant line

with a door that won't decide which side.