The Crooked House

The windows were closed.

The curtains fluttered.

Some old movie played on the telly.

 

A figure by door, stoic and composed.

The water tank ready to be spluttered,

And the beast grumbled in the belly.

 

The wind tried, but the crooked house held steady.

The sun kept on beating, but the engine wasn’t ready.

The tectonic plates shook, and the house was displaced.

Tiredly, I climbed back into dreamland, trying to find the rainbow colored pony I had chased.

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