Anita Subba December 14th, 2018

What’s Within That House by China Hamilton 30.5.15 That’s not my house I heard him say. No not mine, not any way. But what’s within I asked again, A serious question not a whim? Nothing, nothing, not a thing, His answer as he turned around And like a fine horse pawed the ground, Gave little hope to me. They are all like that one, Quite the same he murmured on, They are but empty hopes And empty dreams, Failed un-fired bricks And nothing to show for all that effort, Rot infested beams. Surely not that house, I pointed with my stick? Oh yes that house, they’re all the same, Life’s hopes and wishes all undone. Come, come, I used encouragement, Surely there’s a small gray cat And some sweet maid with flowing hair. Oh yes once and bread and wine And little mice just for the cat, The cat she stroked upon her lap. They had chairs Large oak tables set in pairs. Candles lit as nightfall come Music made their merry fun. At first out went the chairs And tables to. Two men came and drowned the cat, Don’t like em any shade of gray, Was all that others heard them say. They eat and drank and munched the mice, Then each in turn did use her thrice. Screams will empty any house, As bare and rot does echo back. He walked off not looking back, I threw the key away, For there was little more to say.. I’d ask another man upon another day.