"Why I Almost Never Leave the House" by Gregory Lawless

I don't go downtownanymore. And even if I doI come back boredand scared of whatI've bought. My carcan barely make itdown to Main Streetbefore it turns aroundand shuffles back. It wants to tickand drip in the darkgarage where all my toolsare sick. They won't comeout. The toolbox latchis rusted shut. It's summernow. I ought to poundsome seed into the lawn.The grass has asthma.It's brown and short.The mail needs my help.The bills are cryingout. My house is vagueand white, and I like itfrom the inside, notthe out.