ABANDONED II

The house just sits there,
hunched, desolate,
as though it had been in a fight
and lost.
Its eyes are closed, nailed
shut.  Its arms are helpless,
held tightly by rampant vines
allowed to climb through railings,
suck onto brick walls.

Someone built it
believing there would be 
laughter here, breezes coming through windows,
doors slamming, aromas
carrying welcome through the house
and out the doors.
That might have happened - 
years past.

Decay is powerful.
It has come down this street,
seen the house
and moved in.

		Lucille Murphy