Wooden Houses On An Old Street Poem by Jared Carter

They might be sitting in armchairs
in a dayroom. They have undergone
innumerable operations, and something
is still not right. They keep

refrigerators on their front porches
and old Plymouths in their back yards.
In the middle of the block one house
has begun to undress: has shucked off

its asbestos siding and 2X4 fire escape
like a fugitive running down a hallway.
The others pretend not to notice. Wind
billows the plastic film over their eyes.


From Situation Normal. First published in InPrint.