The house that was on fire
was ours. The jury was out
on where we’d met. An orphan came
to live with us. We didn’t mind.
Police knocked. They told us
our house was incorrectly numbered and
we hadn’t been getting a lot of the mail we should’ve.
They didn’t mind about the orphan or the fire
or the room shortage. The house fire
is still burning. But it is correctly numbered. We toss junk
mail into the fire. We got some old mail
and the magazines seemed antique.
We invited people over for an old timey
themed party. When nobody came, we had the fire
to blame. It takes some getting used to. Really,
we should be grateful for the orphan’s company.