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FURTHER READING
Poems by Charles Harper Webb
Prayer for the Man Who Mugged My Father, 72
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Loving a House

 
by Charles Harper Webb

Sandi doesn't like Dan much, but loves his house. She comes over before
he's home from work, to gaze into its window-eyes. She wheedles her own key. ("That's good," Dan thinks. "We're getting
close.") Now she can visit when he isn't there to interrupt as her bare feet
caress the hardwood floors, as her hands linger on gleaming knobs and
faucets, as she strokes the long, smooth balustrade, and explores every
chamber of this heart she adores. Though Dan's frog-belly makes her wince, his slobbery kiss makes
her shudder, the feel of him inside her can only be endured if she is
drunk or stoned, she marries him, pretending it's the house on top of
her, the house into whose ear she cries, to whom she whispers, "I love
you. Good night." How awful when, after a year of bliss, Dan wins promotion to a better
town. The "For Sale" sign in the yard pierces her heart. She makes phone calls. She hires workmen and machines. Dan
comes home with two First Class tickets, to find wife and house gone. "We'll move from state to state," she mouths through the rear window
of the truck that tows her love. "We'll paint, remodel, whatever it takes." When rain begins to fall, she climbs from the truck to the house, and
as asphalt hisses by, kisses the wet windows one by one. "Itís hard for
me, too, Sweetheart," she whispers. "Please donít cry."






Copyright © 2005 by Charles Harper Webb.
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