In the House of the Unanswereds

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IN THE HOUSE OF THE UNANSWEREDS


                 — to R.M.


He’s aggravated on observing that 

the neighbor’s houses seem to well-

withstand the existential easterlies that 

test the structural integrity of all the local

houses in the area. Why is it, then, that

Mrs. Miller and her porky children suck

their forks contentedly while he must sit

beneath the steps to wearily anticipate,


             (tonight, again,)


the roof ripping off? Perhaps he didn’t

build it up to par, and in a certain sense 

he’s relatively sure of this, to an extent. 

Still, he wonders exactly where he went

off code. Allow me to briefly intervene

to theorize (and here I find encouragement

myself) that maybe it's the honest chinks

that welcome in the breath of the divine.


            If so, we're fine.


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