Cleaning House

by Scott Owens

Pulling the house down piece by piece,

we see each other at our worst

before we've even had our first date,

my face itching with black insulation,

yours covered with white dust of sheetrock.

We scrape off paint and paper, buff out

spots, old glue, unexplained

stains, remove tacky paneling

revealing forgotten charm, original

beadboard, hard woods, solid ceilings.

We're woefully unprepared, untrained,

undertooled, cutting off pipes

with hacksaws, filling holes with toothpicks,

brillo pads, good wood pulled

up from where it wouldn't be seen.

An odd sort of courting really,

hammer and nails instead of flowers,

microwaved Hot Pockets for meals,

red wine in paper cups, all glasses

still mysteriously packed away.

Ripping out rotted casements of windows,

hollow doors, seven layers of floor,

we sweat together, swear together,

bend in unison towards the necessary

destruction that always precedes renewal.