The Big House

by Rich Allen

Today I ran

from the busy street

across the wet lawn

to the large fountain

and the marble steps which I climbed

to grab the cold brass handle,

like I do every day,

banging open the large wooden door.

Then I stopped there in the front hall,

and I saw my wet footprints on the shiny marble floor,

so I backed away, slowly,

to the cold cement porch

in the corner by the gate

and I crawled up like a potato bug

and waited to be scolded.