“Grass Grows Tall in Foreclosed Yards” by Michael Gordon

Grass Grows Tall in Foreclosed Yards


The grass grows taller each week at the house we abandoned to the bank

drunk drugged bodies sleep in our beds

a couple of them pulled pipes

flooding the basement into a deep clear pool, overflowing out of the windows, my old neighbor

called in a panic to see if there was anything I could do, there’s nothing

That house became an enemy best left in the past with regret and blister scars

Addiction rooms

contained the mother’s attempted suicide, epileptic seizures, rages, and lustful chats with strangers, slow drips of toxic chemotherapy, hunger, and binges

Yes, but we could cherish the scent of old wood, the creaking stairs, Christmas lights on the peak, empty trains whose yellow squares glow and metal wheels screech on silver tracks

Dead trains drift back to their cages for the night before the last blast from an air horn

We are safe, now separated from each other

only see the other like strange cousins at mandatory family events, the funerals and the weddings, maybe a glance to acknowledge the other’s existence and to conjure strange visions, and to remind myself, I slept next to her for decades

Michael Gordon

Michael Robert Gordon is a native New Yorker living in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, with his wife and two cats. They live next to a busy highway that keeps them awake at night. He has worked as a merchant marine, salesman, and freelance journalist. His poems have appeared both online and in print in small literary magazines. Charles Bukowksi edited his poem, “Witch on the Metro North.” His novel, Black Market Bones, is available from Imzadi Publishing. He is currently working on a biography of the outlaw, post-beat poet, Charles Plymell.

Headshot: Melissa Picado

Photo Credit: Staff