Flagging

Flagging

I live with asshole in stereo:

The man on my left, he wants to sell me the end of social problems,
in whispered tones so I can't quite make out the details,
but he'd bet my life that he's right.

The woman on my right, she is pitching the same thing.
She shouts it too loud, spits in my ear,
and for some reason she keeps trying to take the joint out of my mouth.

And I'm sitting in this house:

Half-sure it is alive, an entity unto itself to spite the deed.
It's sprouting this ivy, networked bare vines,
mimicking blue veins ripping through old men's hands.

Her windows breathe and sigh heavy, just as tired of these two bickering.
If given only a little more money, they say they can plug her leaky faucets
but I only asked them to repair the rotten foundation.

And this flag, it's flying out front, but I don't know who put it there.
I guess I'm just too lazy to take it down.