505

There used to be food on this table.
Mom would bake
Chicken
And
Rice,

And when Dad
Would come
Home
Late
From the
Football stadium,

We would
Have bellies full of
Warm conversation.

Then
Annabelle--
[All stink and fluff]

Would stain my cheeks
With her good kisses,

While I rested my head on
Mom's decorative pillows
As the murmor of
Late night television cooed me to sleep.

     And I was
        C e n t e r.


The gaping hole in the ceiling
That the fire ate out
Never got repaired.

We saved the dogs.
We all escaped.

We survived.
We are thriving on
Ventilated air.

But when the mailman came by
The 505 house today,
He looked for my
Left and my right.

  To which I responded:

"I'm sorry sir.

      I'm the
        Only
        Monroe
           Still
           Here."