Haunted House

The place reeked

of moth balls, of old

ways to get rid of old

problems, remedies

that never worked,

it smelled of dead

things, of musk from

pretty garbage piled

high on walls and left

to degenerate, left for

time to disintegrate,

left from shopping

trips that failed to

kill the sorrow, long

lost pets rotted into

the carpet, trapped

where they couldn’t

get out, a cat’s bones

lodged in the chimney

desperate to breathe

air, the ghosts there

discontent, phantoms

of what once was

living alongside the

dead, a home that had

its day and now with

a groan it saw what

it had made and was

dissatisfied, saw the

children raised in

halls not so hallowed

and remembered the

slapping was louder

than the kissing, than

the laughter and the

lovemaking, tainted

memories seep into

the ceiling, the floor,

the roof-tiles so they

can’t reach heaven,

can’t be cleansed,

sinking into the ground

as the foundation

gives way, wondering

if it hadn’t been a

little crooked all

along.