Cracks the in Plaster

There's one above my head,

stretching from walnut door frame

to bare bulb. It bows from

Missouri rain

long since evaporated.

Houses aren't built like this anymore.

Lath and plaster takes too much effort.

Drywall is cheap. Time-efficient.

Another crack festers

a floor below

in my father's study.

"Too much roughhousing."

Nails are used to break the joints.

It curbs the chance

of future rifts.

Preemptive separation.

The ceiling in the spare room

used to have a crack.

Before it collapsed.

This house is not built for my father.

Too many parts to fix

to fit into his schedule.

He is not a patient man.

I cut myself

tiptoeing around

pieces of plaster.

No one was around

to clean up the mess.

I tried to fix the one above my head

once, but I had the wrong tools.

I stirred up 21 year old spackle

instead of reinforced fiberglass tape.

Now the ceiling is just a patchwork

of “not good enough”.

I wait for the day

pressure shifts

and I collapse under the weight

of a decaying, bungalow-styled

family.