Of Trailers and Torture, revision

[Lizzie]

Her Nixon-old, single-wide trailer
is an uncomfortable bra of a thing:
its fit pinches like a mean 6th grader.
Her belongings spill out onto the front porch,
bared to the elements. She's always adjusting
the flimsy screen door, the wiring was botched,
and the latch to the shower stall won't stay hooked.
She stretches around others, twists
and contorts herself to fit. Her clothing slips
off the over-burdened dresser
like too-loose straps. Knockers
at the door wonder how she breathes
in there with two growing kids,
the youngest still nursing.
She'll snap eventually.

edit 1

This Nixon-old, single-wide, yellow trailer
is an uncomfortable bra of a thing:
its fit pinches like a mean 6th grader.
Our belongings spill out onto the front porch,
bared to the elements.
You could spend your whole day adjusting the flimsy screen door,
and the latch to the shower stall won't stay hooked.
We smash our heads together, stretch around
each other, twisting and contorting ourselves to fit.
The wiring under the trailer was improperly installed.
Our clothing slips off the over-burdened dresser like too-loose straps –
it's chafing our nerves.
Knockers at the door wonder how we live here
with two small kids, the youngest still nursing.
Eventually, we'll snap.

original


This Nixon-old, single-wide, yellow trailer
we live in is an uncomfortable bra of a thing:
its fit pinches us like a mean 6th grader.
Our belongings spill out onto the front porch,
exposed to the bare elements.
You could spend your whole day adjusting the flimsy screen door,
and the latch to the tiny shower stall won't stay hooked.
We smash our heads together as we stretch
around each other, twisting and contorting ourselves to fit.
The wiring under the house was improperly installed.
Our clothing slips off the over-burdened dresser like too-loose straps –
it's reddening our nerves.
Knockers at the door wonder how we live here
with two small kids, the youngest still nursing.
Eventually, we'll snap.