4 Walls

 4 Walls

Half a paycheck spent

on a house I never see;

a place that exists

only for sleep.

An untouched kitchen,

a silent piano,

an empty fridge.

The only sound

the hum of the washer

scrubbing the hospital from my clothes

only to cycle me back again.

My dog stares, pleading:

stay, stay, please stay.

My body whispers back,

yes—yes, that’s all I want,

but I’m late for sign-out,

and others wait to claim

their 7 hours

in overpriced sleeping cells.