the house on the corner

there was

the house on the corner,

the dark

house with

broken windows

where we

through rocks.

curtains still hung,

blowing

in the snowy breeze.

a rusted heap

of an old chevy in the yard,

the hood

up,

the wheels

on blocks. baby blue

washer

and dryer

tilted

on their sides

between the shrubs.

near the oak tree

swung

a tire for the children,

and beyond that

was where they buried

their

cats and dogs,

the hard dirt still

dotted with white crosses.

when we were young

we knew

the family

who lived there.

it's hard to put your

finger on

exactly what went wrong.