Jefferson House

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem dedicated to the memories of what was once a great home.

Submitted: December 15, 2012

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Submitted: December 15, 2012





There once was a house with white walls, wet floors, and white doors

We would sit and joke, and laugh, and think

But the times got bad when the boys brought whores

And they took our smokes, our food, and drink

They never paid the bills, they did no chores


It began to die down but I always came back

I wanted to see the old faces I had once laughed with

But they gathered their things and wouldn’t unpack

They said they were going to be out by the fifth

And so they left the white house, barely intact


The house was condemned, and the place was demolished

I remember looking in the rubble, and I got on my knees and found an old shoe

It was torn, ripped, dirty, needing to be polished

But then I remember whom it belonged to

A stranger approached me, in which I acknowledged


“What was once here, why are you on all fours?”

I thought of a reply as I stared at her blouse.

“Are you alright? Was this, right here, once yours?”

I replied, “No, but there once was a house,

With white walls, wet floors, and white doors…”

© Copyright 2019 Joe Paustian. All rights reserved.

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