Landlady


The aging frame still stands straight
but the paint is wearing thin

and wants to cry down
the side of the house.

Jumping into the pool
of my plasma,

tenants thrash
among rippling scales

and sunwarmed algae,
peeing at will.

Forgotten shrubs hang on
with only life in underground roots.

As I wait to return,
I cheer my growing equity

and hand on to my title,
Landlady.

and count the scores of months left
to live naked, without my house.


- Judith Pordon

Published in The Orange Willow Review