Every House A Pyx

As I ran, pitching sideways toward the door, slipping on the hardwood floor,

In a moment of panic,

My arms lengthened and my hands grew into the wall.

I stopped there, leaning, and quite uncomfortable.

I pulled. 

Nothing.

I pulled again. 

Still nothing.

I put my socks on the wall by the two light switches and pulled.

A chunky oval section of the wall popped out with my hands still attached,

And I fell sitting on it, with my arms between my legs.

An hour later someone came to the door with a package.

I yelled, “the door’s open!” and then:

“Whoops!  I guess it isn’t!  Sorry!”

I fell asleep and my wife came home and tripped on me.

She was so angry that she did not help me up.

So I slept there.

In the middle of the night, I woke up and my eyes were adjusted to the dark.

I could see a dim blue light buzzing from inside the hole in the wall.

They were some kind of wall pixies,

 And if you completely relaxed your ears,

you could kind of understand them.

They were putting in motion a plan they’d been working on for a long time

I missed the details, but it was very political.

In the morning I found that my legs

and my hands

and the piece of wall

Had all melted into the floor,

And much of my torso was melded with

the side of the blue couch.

After I became bored of struggling,

I started to listen.

You could hear the other people

who’d become part of the house.

A lot of murmuring.

A lot of worrying and

checking off items on lists.

I listened for, I guess a long time.

And I forgot to think about my body

I don’t know what ever happened to it.

But eventually the house was torn down

And mixed with a lot of other torn down things

And when there was no more room,

they planted a cover crop of clover

and let us just be together, ground.