...or maybe this should be titled "R.I.P. This House"
Rip This House
by Christopher Walsh, 7/11/2020
Turn your house upside down. Literally.
Rip it from its foundation, its facade, its plumbing
And raise it into the sky.
Then: flip.
Noise within noise within noise
Of crashing sound after crashing sound:
Furniture, furnishings, pantry staples, fridge items
Responding to gravity as loudly as possible.
Anything on shelves: now on different shelves, or former ceilings
And any clothes on hangers or hooks flump-ing (unheard, again, among the noise) into sudden piles
Or dangling from angles never meant to be dangled from
(Tangled, too, probably).
Chandeliers, where not broken, look wilted, deflated,
Suddenly centerpieces in the completely wrong way.
Wall-mounted art, lamps, TVs, plants
May, during all the excitement, have spun
Before disconnecting and falling and breaking.
Water and sewage drain from unexpected places.
Any peaks to the roof: crumpled in.
Windows, mirrors and glass are now fascinating collections of cracks and breaks.
The once-were-ceilings would have given plenty of room to walk around on
We're it not clogged with the chaos of so much that fell.
After a while: the tub, unmooring from its position, finally falls and shatters.
(So do the furnace and the hot-water heater.)
Rugs? Now blankets! Heavy ones.
Sofas, chairs and beds are upside-down and at least for now useless.
Any item that was saved? Is buried. Good luck finding it
Among the wood and steel and wainscoting and pipes and wires and destruction
Like a snow globe gone horribly wrong.
Termites and ants are unaffected.
© Christopher Walsh, 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
by Christopher Walsh, 7/11/2020
Turn your house upside down. Literally.
Rip it from its foundation, its facade, its plumbing
And raise it into the sky.
Then: flip.
Noise within noise within noise
Of crashing sound after crashing sound:
Furniture, furnishings, pantry staples, fridge items
Responding to gravity as loudly as possible.
Anything on shelves: now on different shelves, or former ceilings
And any clothes on hangers or hooks flump-ing (unheard, again, among the noise) into sudden piles
Or dangling from angles never meant to be dangled from
(Tangled, too, probably).
Chandeliers, where not broken, look wilted, deflated,
Suddenly centerpieces in the completely wrong way.
Wall-mounted art, lamps, TVs, plants
May, during all the excitement, have spun
Before disconnecting and falling and breaking.
Water and sewage drain from unexpected places.
Any peaks to the roof: crumpled in.
Windows, mirrors and glass are now fascinating collections of cracks and breaks.
The once-were-ceilings would have given plenty of room to walk around on
We're it not clogged with the chaos of so much that fell.
After a while: the tub, unmooring from its position, finally falls and shatters.
(So do the furnace and the hot-water heater.)
Rugs? Now blankets! Heavy ones.
Sofas, chairs and beds are upside-down and at least for now useless.
Any item that was saved? Is buried. Good luck finding it
Among the wood and steel and wainscoting and pipes and wires and destruction
Like a snow globe gone horribly wrong.
Termites and ants are unaffected.
© Christopher Walsh, 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.