Home Poem by Liz Annson

An old house. Older than you
Or me. It fights, pull against pull
Of gravity, trying to keep itself upright.
Small green eyes wink out from the window,
Vertical pupils turned to slts in the light.
First one pair, then another, and a tail
Furry ears as well.
No cars sit in the driveway
No furniture to be seen through the door, open
As if left in a hurry.
A forlorn 'Sale' sign sags in the front lawn
Nothing sadder than an abused home.