The Fixer Upper Poem by Raj Dronamraju

I can't wait to leave this uncomfortable house
And go back to my own uncomfortable house

We subscribe to death in our uncomfortable house
The mailman brings his mini-missives of death
They lay on the coffee table unopened and are gradually buried by other mail

All that I can be is deeply broken
Someone smashed in my windows
You must have known I wouldn't be gracious in defeat

You must have known I wouldn't take this well
Cursing the neighborhood children at the top of my lungs
While the basement experiences a problem with seepage

So if we wait for time to advance the cause of human mortality
And if we wait for human mortality
They will render a King Solomon-type judgment on all this wasted effort

And if we burn the sky because we know we have a home to come back to
Is this where we wait it out?
Waiting and applying cosmetics to our dead inevitability