locked in at two point seven five

you've known
for a long time
that the house
is haunted.
ghosts rattle
chains
all through
the night.
bats fly about,
on sharpened
wings,
the corners
are full of webs
and spiders.
mice
peer from
their holes
twitching
their
noses.
the rocking chair
creaks
with no one in
it.
the doors swing
open, knobs
turn
without a hand.
the windows
go up with a rush
of cold air,
the shutters bang.
you swear you hear
the cackle of witches
in the cellar,
standing
around a boiling
pot,
stirring up
potions to cast
their spells.
but you can't move.
you can't pack up
and leave.
you just refinanced
at two point seven five
per cent for
fifteen years, no
points. you're here
for a while.