Beware the people.
who make a project of you.
These Flip This House
Love It Or Leave It pricks

will declare a coat of paint
could really bright up the place.
Scuff your worn floorboards,
they smudge your banisters.

They will ask condescendingly
about the wood paneling.
Quietly note the ample storage,
murmur about your good bones.

Lament the sagging back porch,
sigh at the garden, lush and tangled.
They’ll suggest cutting down the trees.
"It'll bring in so much light."

Because they can’t comprehend
the pull of buds in spring
or the secret green
of wide leaves in summer

or the round fruits mounding
Between wild roots and flowers,
the hills of leaves that pile
thick and wet in fall.

How the gray outlines
of bare branches
curling toward winter sky
turn you melancholy and kind.

They will offer insult
couched as advice.
Knock down retaining walls,
mallets arcing through your dust.

They will insist the destruction
"will really open it up in here."
Then wonder why the bathroom
collapsed into the kitchen.

Inquire about the wiring,
roll their eyes at the linoleum.
Ask how hard it would be
to put in new pipes

They will bemoan
the wallpaper in the bedroom.
Complain the clawfoot tub
is just so hard to clean.

They will, in their hurry
paint your windows closed.
These people
do not know you.

They might think
because the shape of you
reminds them of a place they lived
they'll know where you creak.

Because they know why the light
in the hallway sometimes hums,
that they can predict
where the drafts will creep.

They will try to shore you up
against old storms
Weathered
in harsher climes.

They will gut you.
Sand down and stain
all evidence you’ve ever
been occupied.

Try to exorcise the precious ghosts
of those you sheltered long ago.
Empty the attic and basement
of any history not their own.

But in all the years
they ambled by
feeling so sorry
for your leaning walls

clucking at the undergrowth
brushing at your panes
feeling charitable as they assessed
your potential market value

It never occurred to them
That you were fine, for ages
until they shuffled to your door
Knocking meekly, card in hand.

“Hello-
this place
she just has
such good bones."