Sub-urban

I live in a crayon house

With a peaked roof

And a chain smoking chimney

And square windows

On a square frame

And a door

That is big

And red

With bits of white

And a smudgy yellow handle

That doesn’t open

To let me inside

Where I have no possessions

So I sit under my tree

In the shade of its full canopy

With my stick legs crumpled

And my stick hands on my head

Falling forever towards the edge

On every side

My life is shit

But I can’t stop smiling