“IS YOUR BEDROOM MAKING YOU SICK?”
Camel crickets attend their ugly Mass in closets.
Centipedes enter & exit by smallest cracks
as if the keyholes in coffins just in case.
Sewer gas rises from drains like sulfur
from a dormant volcano waking up,
readying an eruption, then calamity.
The carbon monoxide leak from before
with a hole in the wall or busted pipe,
melted seal on the water heater.
Little ventilation & no light from outside,
lone window overlooking basement storage space.
Yet the room’s luxurious in its unpleasantness,
comforting like a warm bath
in which I might sleep & drown, &
anyway, a paradise compared to my cell:
whenever fear approaches, there’s the door.