Smoke alarms.

He hurricanes down the hall
bellowing sighs like some long lost sibling
of Katrina
Thick clouds fill a desolate mental sky
while lightning cracks,
and heavy rains begin to fall
for forty days, and forty nights
of unceasing torrent from the heavens,
pelting towards the ground
as the bedroom wall buckles,
bowed by the pressure of
steadily rising water,
with little sign of clearing.

A new car, a different job,
another woman’s number
the dogs unwalked,
unwatered, unkempt
the bills, unpaid, pile up
while stacks of dishes
form an alter in worship
to the tilted tower of Pisa,
teetering on the grooves of the bench
held up like a stumbling drunkard
by the tired, reliable splashboard
as water continues to trickle
down the inside
of
the
walls.