There are cracks in every square inch of plasterboard. I spend vacant hours making cracking designs. Last night it was a jungle safari. The ceiling in the kitchen sprung a leak yesterday, thankfully over the sink. The carpet has patchwork stains. I imagine a carpet picnic. Lovers so excited they spill their wine and goodies. So I leave the stains as a memorial to lover’s everywhere. I’m careful not to stomp love away. I’ve a new best friend. She is a spark and hot. She takes the chill off the air and my heart. Dances and keeps me company all night long. When I spin around there is a piece of me staring back. Wooden cats guard the mantle. Books fall out of a bookshelf. I pretend it is a floor to ceiling mahogany keeper of words. A bicycle in the dining room is my functional piece of art. My new acquisition sits at the base of my wing back chair. A grass green pouffe. She has a past life just like me. For fifty years a minister used her. He kept her lovely almost new.
When I arrived home tonight I noticed something new.
A friendly scent
through the cracks and stains
a smoke signal from the fireplace