Fuse Box

For NaPoWriMo’s daily prompt: a poem of greeting (to an old adversary).

 

Fuse Box

Oh, hello again.

Snuck in through the ventilation, did you?

Decided to defecate all round

my house, and violate my self-esteem?

Your mangy children are scrabbling around in my wet-walls,

chewing on the electrics, fraying the wires.

 

The fuse box is hidden in the basement,

and all the lights are out down there.

 

I smell smoke in the linen closet.

The toilet’s clogged, sink’s running over.

Some of the ceilings are crumbling.

You move fast, you leviathan,

you and all your vermin forms.

 

I find a spoon and start to dig,

but I’m apoplectic and startle easy.

 

Under rubble, here’s a candle, here’s a match.

I’ll excavate slowly down to the footings,

with tiny fragments of sanity,

until I find the switch to reset myself.

And once again, I’ll greet the crew

and reconstruct my house once more.

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