If walls could speak

Today I visited an 18th century building that had been damaged by fire and water. Recent rains have given me a new appreciation for my own roof.

....Bilocalalia....

I searched through my old poems for a dVerse prompt, and found this one. I wrote it in Spanish (below the English version) in the late 1990s, recalling a time a decade earlier when I was unhappy with my apartment management job and my life in general. I’m usually a big fan of fungi, but not when they grow indoors!

The Leak

Due to the weakness of the roof,
his inability, his carelessness,
his lack of resistance,
several drops infiltrated
little by little
without our knowledge,
in silence, in hiding,
through no fault of our own.
This is always the way;
we walls
support the roof
without complaint,
without a word of thanks,
and at the moment of truth,
the time of storm,
after all we’ve done,
he won’t protect us.
And to think he keeps
the sunshine all to himself,
while we look at each other
like fools…