The Abandoned Bungalow of My Dreams Finds a TV Contractor in Its DMs

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A small, white house with concrete foundation. The door, roof, and trimmings are painted red. In the background are some trees and a small flower bush. — Photo by moniek van rosse on Unsplash

Far from cul-de-sacs and cookie-cutter samesies 
I could let you kneel to trace my inlaid floor,
but before we measure, or speak of any orthodoxies, 
let me whisper a little ruin in your ear:
Know the thirst of water pooling against a foundation? 
Parched roots testing each seam of a pipe?
I do. So if I won’t have your full attention, 
you should take another swipe.
The world is full of men jacked like Chevrolets, 
who’ll only tear you down,
who couldn’t build a thing to stay, 
and for them lesser projects abound.
I’m no fresh pinup for the real-estate photographer. 
Honey, I’ve been there. I’m ready for rougher.

Heather Hamilton

is the author of Here is a Clearing (Poetry Society of America, 2019). She teaches at Penn State Harrisburg, and her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Bennington Review, Copper Nickel, Poetry Northwest, and Smartish Pace.

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