I am my own yellowpages.
I am the plumber, call me
son-of-stillson, but I know
secretly, no easy way fixes
anything–soaped drawers always
stick, fixed faucets still drip,
leak back or up, through the floor.
It’s all one in the woods.
It’s urban/rural here, haven slum
for squirrels and mice, who even
now confetti up the walls, while
the ants picnic in the roofbeams.
Some day we’ll houseproof it all.
That bird we saw the other day —
not the vulture but the warbler —
gives us hope.