House-hunting

House-hunting

She liked the one on Elmore Avenue—

its sloping yard, the phantom children she

projected through the original hardwood halls, 

the mantle she would populate with frames 

and ivy strands, perhaps a decorative lamp. 

I liked the one on Baxter Street, perhaps

because, on showing it, the realtor said, 

“Outdated fixtures, but the structure’s sound,” 

and I said, “Same here.”

                                      They didn't laugh. He looked

at me a little funny, began to talk 

about the costs to make it right, and I

was envious that it would only need 

some money, time, ‘a little elbow grease

to rip the carpet up, put in some tile.’