941 W. Lombard St.

The floor creaked and the doors squeaked
As it rained, the water would seep –
In through the windows and just down below
Where the door didn’t quite touch the floor.

Rooms piled on top of rooms
The third floor is where I slept.
In a room with my sister—
Clean and neat is what we never kept.

My brother stayed just across the hall
One floor down was my father sprawled
On the bed my mother made
Just before she left the house to slave–
At work.

That was the last house my parents and I lived in—
Well together at least.
We lived there for years,
But it was over now.

My father came home late every night
Nomore my mother could handle.
So the landlord was who she met
And a U-Haul was what she ordered.

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