19. Fuse

I blew the fuse again last night.
The one that makes the washer spin,
the fridge cool,
the space heater heat.

In the dead of winter
the plastic on the windows shiver,
the walls grow frost,
and the propane burns quicker.

Blown fuses, dead coffee makers, worn out shoes
threaten to take over my basement.
I hate it down there like I hate my bedroom,
my laundry room.

These cold dark spaces need cleaning.
I’m tired of cleaning.

When the washer spun, the fridge hummed,
and the sound of electricity droned,
the microwave made its final claim
and popped.

And then there was only silence
and filth.