their turn now

the house. up for sale.
the bones sagging,
the light sockets sparking.
the water
leaking
in the basement.
pipes
full of air
and brown water.
each room papered
with thin
old patterns adored
in another age.
the carpet, with crests,
still stretched
along the stairs
holding dust and dirt
from decades gone by.
thick curtains,
with royal aspirations,
blue and gold,
hold back,
the light,
as the owner, now one,
is wheeled out
to a box truck with
a siren, flashing red
lights. the new owners
prance in
with joy, hammers
and shovels
in hand.
it's their turn now.