Rolled Up in the Blueprint
By Ethan Joella
I used to say our home had thirty rooms
Then find a way to make it fact.
I counted closets stuffed like Sunday chicken,
Basement sections shelved with cloudy pears, canned, forgotten
Laundry area and the upstairs hall.
At the last minute, I added the porch
And garage to cement my case.
Mansion living is not easy. More than terraces or terrazzo.
Once I’d established our estate,
I sympathized with the rich.
The others just see property, fortune
Room. No one knows the dust and draft.
How you can get swallowed by it all, rolled up in the blueprint.
No one sees how even the best of servants,
The fleet of cars
Cannot rescue you from what you go home to.