The Trouble With Pre-Hung Doors

Kelli Ann Brommel's poem, "The Trouble With Pre-Hung Doors," was originally published in Short Edition’s July '19 Rendez-Vous. Kelli Ann lives in Iowa City, Iowa with her husband, two kids, and a cat named Little Grey.

Image of General Submissions - Rendez-Vous, July 2019 issue

Here we go tra-la-la
Fixing the house, hammer in hand
The soles of our feet stained to match
The rungs of the step ladder we can't put away
Because houses are houses are sand castles
Always falling apart or leaking
So much water
We should've just bought a boat and set sail
Packed a shipshape cabin
With no room to scatter drill bits and
Bits of shim and
Where's the stupid tape measure I just had it and
That pencil you're looking for is behind your ear and
Nothing's ever level
The ants want to eat our home but
Not before the cat gets to pee on it
Our efforts are a hole dug at the beach then
The tide comes in, erasing our dent
Some year the work'll be done,
Just before we move
When you pick up the door
The sinews of your arm stand out
My aging stud, you snap at me to
Move the thing onto the thing over there on the thing
And get mad when I freeze like a treed possum,
Pupils large in a flashlight beam
Hold your breath, this time it'll fit
If not, there's the mallet
We can smash the angles till they're right
At night, the boards shimmy into senescence
Despite our attempts to glue things back, it
All comes undone
How fragile the shell that keeps out the rain,
Inside, it's all squeaky
Stairs and compromise

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