Vinyl siding that covers ant-chewed planks,
chipped and broken from bottles and baseballs.
Concrete steps, cracked from earth-settling, chip-
ped when the second-hand fridge got delivered.
All windows glass dusty panes, except one’s plastic;
the flaked painted molding shows rot, disintegration.
The door is hollow core, with many ghosts of locks,
kick holes towards the floor of the bare wood porch.
Children’s piercing screams welcome me, the friendly
visitor, as I knock once, twice, then thrice.
“Oh, it’s you. Come on in. Take off your shoes.”
A mangy-looking cat curls around my legs
and a too-quiet pit bull walks up to sniff my crotch.
“Do you mind putting the dog away?”
“Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”
“To you,” (I say, to myself.)
The six year-old, wearing shorts and a goodly portion of mud,
grabs, “King’s” collar and leads him through an obstacle course
of broken toys, drying feces and hairballs, junk food packages,
mounds of dirty laundry, and away.
The baby in the grubby playpen wears a saggy, smelly diaper
and holds a bottle of what looks like curdling milk,
his saucer eyes red from crying. I can see his ribs.
I sock-feet the gauntlet to the couch with broken springs sticking out
and open the folder in my hand that has forms with questions.
She’s in the kitchen and yells out, “Go ahead and start.”
She’s open, honest, and doesn’t realize that her answers
are giving me the ammunition needed to take even
this humble dump – and her children – away from her.
random image found here
Laura is today’s host for dVerse’ Poetics. Laura wants us to write about an imaginary house. I wrote one yesterday about my dream house(boat.) This one is not about any house in particular except in my head. It’s a composite of many houses I’ve been in during my government job (now retired.) It’s about the house but it’s about so much more (as you can see.)
Tao Talk 
Oh, that’s searing.
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It’s also an indictment that every slum lord deserves. They milk the system more than any poor family ever thought of.
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Yes, that comes through.
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This is brutal! And yes, slum lords must be held accountable.
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Thank you, Helen. I wish I could say they ever are…
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Thank you, Helen. I wish I could say they are…
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Such a heartbreaking story!
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Thank you, Sadje. It is heartbreaking in many ways 😦
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You’re welcome! Yes it is
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I’m reading this and my face is getting more and more twisted into a grimace of disgust and horror over the whole thing. You painted a very vivid picture! The house itself is a a sad thing (reading your comments about a slum lord) bu the mother has made no efforts either so, yes, take them away…
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It’s a real mess, isn’t it. There are no winners in this scenario 😦
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No, there are not. 😔
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And you’re the social worker here? What a pitiful state to live in. Is this living, really? This is too sad.
Now I’ll be thinking about that family. Sending prayers for them.
Thanks for this moving poem of a reality that’s real somewhere.
I bless you.
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Thank you for your thoughtful comment, Selma. It is appreciated, especially your empathy for the (fictitious) family.
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The picture that you paint so accurately, I can see it playing out here in so many neighbourhoods.
It is painful as well as horrifying.
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Punam, I think it’s been playing out for a very long time 😦
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Indeed, Li. 😔
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Oh no. That’s heartbreaking!
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😦 Yes, it is.
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Your scene is vivid and so easy to imagine from your words. I give you a lot of credit for handling this line of work.
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Thank you, Ken.
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I love your excellent telling of this sad sad story
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Thank you, Ron.
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wow… this is amazing. I love the complexity of it. We have sympathy for the family, but it’s not untouched with horror at the drying faeces and curdling milk.
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Kate, thank you very much. It is a very complex dynamic. Everyone is complicit in the horror of it.
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This is brilliant Jade, a piling up of details, an all too real reality! JIM
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Jim, thank you very much. It felt good to get some of it out.
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