The Place

 

He climbed up on stools

And counters

To screw light bulbs

In and out,

He could not find

The right light switches,

She told me what

A deal it was,

That I should buy

The place,

This little old couple

Huddling around

A small space heater,

Eating a fast food dinner

With their fingers,

I remembered meeting

Them about a dozen

Years ago, shortly

After they bought

The place,

Shadows of themselves

They were and

The place was cold,

Damp, dimly lit,

Smelling musty and

Dirty with whiffs

Of a cooling, half

Eaten, greasy fast

Food dinner hanging

In the air.

 

Stephen Nesbitt ©

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