Brick YOLO

I be walking down my street, looking at marble plastered on stucco, with rock and grout making the many wooden boxes be pretty enough to be called a home.  The stories and stories of windows be making me wonder, how is it dat we be living in a home which really is just a hollow wooden box all our lives and we never give it a second thought.

Recently a remodel of our home has put me in the kitchen for 3 weeks while my room is striped, covered, plastered and painted.  The many Mexican workers walk in and out of the door for hours and hours carrying scraps and wood got me thinking.  The 2 by 4 he's carrying was the floorboard behind my bed, been there for 10 years as shown by the scratchings and markings made by the horrible abuse of a 8-17 year old boy.

Next came the carpet and pads, doors and borders.  Left nothing but the dust on the ceiling fan i see my stripped dry room which is nothing more then a splinter waiting to happen.  This box that i lived in for 10 years was held together by nails thin a string and glue used by 1st graders to make macaroni art.  How i saw past it for as long as i did, you just don't think about it.  You just live it and enjoy the fragile art of what we call a home.