by Ellen Pepper
Some places are just bad luck.
The family mansion with two addresses,
facing north and east,
with a wide veranda,
a double set of French doors leading out to it.
The secret room that reeked of despair and horrendous events,
The rust-stained wooden floors in there.
Some places are just bad luck.
An elderly sailor named Fred living in the room
beside the step-up bathroom that had two doors,
one at either end.
Emphysema got him.
Crows, seen from the window over the tub,
carrion-gorging upon the roof.
Some places are just bad luck.
The old lady named Olive who had a room and a kitchen on the ground floor.
She died in a fire there one year.
The entire house was destroyed and demolished.
A casino is there now.
Some places are just bad luck.
The ancient horse chestnut tree in front of the newer house on the east side.
A kid hanged himself there.
Some places are just bad luck.
The large, malodorous woman in the basement of the older site,
with her tiny, sickly daughter.
Baby was left alone too many times.
The infant died of neglect and starvation.
Some places are just bad luck.
The 50,000 dollars in Prohibition currency
found in the cellar's hidden speakeasy
after the big fire.
It went to the tax man.
Some places are just bad luck.
The drunken father who impregnated two of his teenage daughters,
one of whom was later murdered while hooking,
stoned on heroin in Detroit.
Some places are just bad luck.
Enough...
Some places are just bad luck.
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Copyright © Ellen Pepper 2022
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