Howard Firkin
      The flowers
            kick all the vases over
The pictures jump their frames
            come out of the closet
Water spits up through the drains

      The gates
            swing free of their hinges
Curtains run off the rails
      The fridge
            discovers its warm heart
The butch letterbox chews up mail

      The snappy new toaster
            just crackles—won’t pop up
The doormat has started to bite
      The saucepans
            are all getting heat-rash
The lights have gone out for the night