The house is empty
Of people
But belongings
And two dogs
Needing to be
Looked after
In two stories

Six seasons pass
In a day

The suburb is
Fenced off
From the backyard

Time seems
To stand still

The weather
Hits the windows
And rays and drops
Wick away

One of the dogs
Is silly and stupid
But is terrifying
And doesn’t know it

The other is regal
And cunning
And always watching
With concern

They watch the watchers
Come and go

They watch the weather
Wick away

And the faces that have
Abandoned this
Brick-by-brick mansion
Like passing rain

Come and go

Sun shines when
They go missing
To break the thrill
Of stormsurfing

Then the dogs bark
At passersby
In the neighborhood

Unbeknownst to them
The house
Is stocked
For survival

For nothing
But existing
And persisting

Throughout calamities
Its abstract fantasies
Contained by fences and
Department store paint

Ordered by magazine the
Boxes stock and cargo
By the front door
To be opened later

No expiration dates

Nothing chips the
Exterior paint

No stones dare crack
Any windows

Or widowmakers smash
Into rooftop gutters

The water heater never
Runs out of heat

Having dinner at noon
And waking up at one

Not recalling any a.m.
Or rejecting any p.m.

Or the beat
Of dog’s pacing
Never ceasing to be
Heard in the rafters

Watching the weather
Watching the seasons

The caretaker’s
Are bloodshot

In case an intruder
Prowls by
The fence
With a burlap sack
Over its face

Ordering parts
By magazine
To add more paint
Or widowmakers

Every tree branch
A bullet striking
The shingles ordered
From the magazine
And nailed on
With assault hammers

More nails are found
In the bedroom safe
And scattered clips
Around downstairs

Both dogs don’t know
So they bark anyways

They don’t know
That the caretaker
Will always return

They don’t know
That it isn’t the same
As they grow bigger
And words
Get rarer

Just have to order
More words
To have someone drive
To visit and give them
What they mailed

Walls go missing
When widowmakers
Break the gutters

And rain spills in

And the wind blows

Where glass shards
Caltrop the carpet

And no one has
Words to record it

The skylight is

Vines creep inside

Both dogs
Bark unceasingly
And pace
To await the

When he arrives
To fix things

In between

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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