A Pair of Haunted Houses

Two po­ems in 45 min­utes to­day. Boo.

Haunted House

the wind charges
down-al­ley
kick­ing newsprint

an[d]other
penum­bra
bric[a]brac

over the gate
through a cleft chin
and past gabled cheeks.

the old empty house
buck­les [down]
as

first rain drops
plas­ter
yesterday’s

head­line:
[un­read­able]
to a shu[td]er

a drop of red
drips around
the edge where

in­side some­one, 73.5%
ca­cao with grime, shoes
and shirt stuffed

with obit­u­ar­ies
has just lit a bit of fire.
Haunted House

They say the house has eyes,
which isn’t a sur­prise,
as any eight year old could tell you.

They say a base­ball hit too hard,
al­ways ends up in that yard,
and I’ve surely lost a few.

I once dared my friend Billy,
who thought I was silly
and didn’t have a clue,

to go ring the bell,
and then come back and tell
if all the tales were true.

When he re­turned
un­hurt and un­burned
right then I learned
that
some­times

it’s not the house that is haunted
but you.

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