I live in a house of cards.
Every time the wind blows
my parent’s voices echo across the neighborhood.
My friends beg to come over
in school hallways and coffee shops.
All I do is shake my head
and ask to play cards instead.
I laugh and draw jokers,
the same card I sleep under,
as we keep shuffling the deck
until my house is shuffled too.
The ace lands on the floor
and gets soaked by spring mud
no one follows me
little drops of rain crash into my arm
and I start to run, no, sprint home.
The house is shuffling again.
I can’t tell a joker from a king.
My dad is taking cards from the pile
and ripping them as they get drenched.
He finally rips the ace
and gives my mother the queen
before she rips it in half.
My brother whispers about winning a bet
even if I barely hear him.
I start to confuse tears with rain.
They’re both just poker chips.
Dad says he’ll build us a house of stone.
But we used to have a house of straw
that’s now the floor
my sneakers sink into.