Old

This grey house,
worn out,
looks like it’s held together
with its own inanimate force of will.

The broad wood beams bordering the stucco
are rubbed bare by time,
except for a few streaks of flaky white paint,
a reminder of better days.

Up at the second floor,
a faded American flag sometimes
droops from a dowel
jammed into a rusty metal mount.

But don’t change it,
because a new flag,
effervescent with color,
would be an affront
to the character of this house.
Or to have workmen come in
and put a fresh coat of new paint
over everything
would be a suffocation.

This house is old, so let it be old.
Me, too. Let me be.