time or space

Leaning against the empty door frame,
Smoking a cigarette as I stare at the giant maple tree,
Leaning eastward toward the garage where I stand,
I take sips from a 40-ouncer, tucked away on a shelf,
Rays of light slice through small openings in the canopy,
Trash litters the dirt that once was grass,
Bone dry and shaded backyard in this college town.
Little E practices his Kung Fu moves,
The ones he learned from the animated movie,
As he kicks and hits the chair swing,
Hanging from the giant maple a few feet from me,
Clouds of dust kicked up under his feet,
Big fat bumblebees buzz by through the doorway,
As cardinals and blue jays dart from tree to tree.
What remains of the lawn is mostly weeds,
Dandelions and other broad-leafed invaders,
Moss and vines have staked their claims as well,
And sticks and small limbs from the last big storm,
Tossed helter-skelter under half-dead trees,
Thirteen of them that I can remember,
The biggest is the maple right in front of me.
The tree worries me because of its size,
Giant limbs cover the back of the house,
Starting to reach the roof of the garage,
One big storm could be enough,
To send it crashing into one or the other,
Both buildings are shedding shingles like crazy,
Littering the sidewalk with tiny black pebbles.
I emptied the rain gutters the other week,
Leaves and twigs and pebbles as well,
Never had that problem before this year,
But everything decided to fall apart at the same time,
Giant cracks in the gutters patched with caulk,
To try to stem the rainwater from reaching the basement,
Shows the signs of years of water damage.
What is the statute of limitations for a lie,
The previous owner lives just down the street,
Claimed ignorance to any serious problems,
But now the problem is mine and no longer his,
So typical of everything else in my life,
The smell of rotting wet matter can’t be escaped,
Black mold forming in unseen corners.
Setting my sinus cavities aflame,
Z-man coughing and weezing from just a wiff,
Who will pay for this travesty,
Where is the justice in all of this,
And to think that we fought to save the house,
Didn’t have enough sense to just walk away,
Should have just gotten an apartment.
B sticks her head through the empty screen door,
Tells us dinner is ready and to wash up,
I glance to the back of the yard,
Another hundred and forty or so feet,
More than enough room to raise a family,
Plenty of privacy and space for the kids,
Some burdens are heavy but still worthwhile.
Just couldn’t imagine having to share space,
Sandwiched between noisy and unruly neighbors,
The stillness of the yard brings me peace,
Even though there is always more to do,
Never done picking up after the kids or trees,
But the noise is our own as is the silence,
And no one usurps our time or space.