There Is Always Something
March 2 2013


There is always something
needs to be done
in an old house.
Taps dripping, attic draft
backing septic sludge.
Unholy rattle, wheezing shudder,
an ancient boiler
firing up.

There is always something
in late middle age, advancing life
that unexpectedly
blind-sides.
The usual pains, here and there
unexpected stiffness.
A comedic slip
on side-walk ice.
The thinning fringe of hair,
which will turn white, and finely frizzy,
like an old man
with that distant stare.

I can hear the steam heat
needs the air bled.
And the rest
is like living under renovation,
supper on a hot plate
covered in plaster dust,
and always something
coming up.
That was supposed to take a few months
has lasted more than 50 years,
and the contractor's son
carried on when he retired.
When the stairs
became too much,
and he found himself
forgetting.

They say resilience comes
from seeing the positive
finding meaning,
the strength to re-frame, and adjust.
Much as re-framing this house
reduced to studs.
So I hammer 2x4s
replace the sheet-rock.
Extract a mummified mouse
who shorted everything out
back in the Eisenhower administration.
Rewire, re-glaze
re-plumb and upgrade.
Or just buckets of paint
over old scars,
some quick cosmetic changes.

On a good day, the place
won't burn down
freeze up
flood,
in subterranean winter.
Or more forgiving summer,
when the garden blooms
and the house is just as beautiful,
perennials still robust
and the lawn lush,
smelling as good
fresh cut.
The saplings I planted, and left to nature
have matured, branched out,
returning leafy shade
the wisdom
of patience.

One day, one will topple,
from the rot
no one sees at the core.
Shatter all the way down
to the ground floor,
fulfil my morbid fears.
When the house is dark,
and no one's been home
for years.