House
I live in a house by the highway
someone mistakenly painted white.
After years of tires and grit,
the sides of my house match an overcast sky.
as dull and dead as roadside piles of snow.
The highway goers look past my house
lost in thoughts of destinations and travels beyond.
They have their windows all rolled up
and their doors always closed.
They don't hear like I do
the never ending thunder
that paints my house gray.
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