birds on blue

these walls,
these ceilings sag,
brittle with time,
the plaster crumbling like
icing
on a stale cake
left out in the sun.
the floors, warped
with wetness,
a thin veneer
lacking shine. the thump
of each radiator
in each room,
emitting low heat,
hardly any warmth at all.
the tenants are packed
and gone
to the next life,
the next place where they
will be wheeled
to a window
and fed with a spoon.
fresh paint won't do,
won't revive
what needs to be torn
down.
but you'll try to disguise
this death
with a bold splash of color,
a thick rich paint,
a pin striped paper,
perhaps paisley,
or birds on blue.