Rome burns

The dryer won't stay on unless you wedge a chair against its door to keep it closed.
The living-room lamp won't stay on without a piece of Scotch tape holding the switch in place.
A rubber band around two knobs keeps the cupboard doors in the kitchen from remaining ajar.
A bungee cord keeps a porch screen from being toyed with by the wind.
A sock pinned between our bedroom door and the frame allows it to stay closed at night.
And a large dictionary holds the window open to let in the fresh air.

Welcome to our home. Wouldn't change a thing.

The hardwood floor in the dining-room is uneven and slants to the west.
If you're walking that direction you'll pick up speed as you move.
Our address keeps falling off the front of the house.
Last week it broke in half, with the four numbers coming loose from their wooden backing.
To find our place now, use land markers.
In our bathroom the toilet takes 20 minutes to refill after flushing.
It's a slow drip approach that mimics our coffee maker.
The light above the mirror has a short. It buzzes and flickers.
Bath water has seeped through the floor, staining a ceiling below.
It's formed a desert brown image the shape of West Virginia.

Age parades its flaws.
Wear and tear is a busy army.
The seasons weather us all.

I seek no fountain of youth for myself,
nor a repair shop for my things.
I watch pieces fall, feel the years carve my bones, and bathe in flowering imperfections.