This House Poem by Robbie Brereton

There's a draft in this house.
It began as a whisper
uttered in the hall,
but now it's spread,
and I just can't get warm.

It's leaked into the kitchen,
and climbed into the cupboards
it lurks under the sink,
and festers in the oven.

It's trapped under the sofa,
and imprisoned in the pictures,
it jumps out from every drawer,
and scuttles under my bed.

When I step out of the shower,
it greets me with a gasp,
and chases me up the stairs,
until, bursting into my room,
I slam the door and bolt it shut.

I try to swallow my breath,
but it seeps in under the door,
gnawing at my ankles
crawling up my legs
and I'm screaming now
going for the window
but that is locked
just like the door
so now I'm limping to the corner
dragging myself across the floor
but still she circles overhead,
a vulture scything through the air,
screeching,
you weren't there,
did you ever care?

Now she's back on the beam,
And the chairs rocking once more
And I hear the
Snap
And the
Crack
As she plunges to the floor.