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VA Wiswell

Old House

We told them, reservation after reservation, year after year,
the story of our nosey old house,
            how it refuses to keep secrets,
                       how it spreads rumors like butter over toast
            The rooms, we said, are speakers bouncing stories from one ear to the next
            In its bones, we cautioned, lives a memory of every word ever hurled 
            This nosey old house, we explained, is a streaming service 
                       delivering years of questionable content, 
                                   requested 
                                                or not 
            Forethought, we advised, and discretion are the best weapons against its hungry eyes and eager ears 


            Our words were meant as a pillow, told kindly to guest after guest, a soft comfort offered

to yield rest 
            Somehow, though, our advice became a rock, 
                       always tossed into a bottomless pond and forgotten
leaving us
wide
awake, midnight after 
midnight, and 
aghast, day after 
day, 
two unwitting witnesses 
bearing witness to the
hushed lives,
            the salty moonlit laughter, 
                       the cross words served over crosswords and tea, 
                                   and the dewy-mouthed, early-morning moans 
of the invited strangers inhabiting
our
tattle-tale house.

Sean Ewing Crimson_Elegance.jpg

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray

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