Haunted

The messages the colors send --

The tired harvest gold and brick,

The avocado trim, the drawers that stick,

The refrigerator hum, the raucous blare

Of heat, the faintest hint of disinfectant

And of smoke, all these and more

That speak of age and overuse

And yet I cannot help but think

How this would seem luxurious

To all those refugees camped out in tents

Or hiding behind trees, afraid and thirsty,

Dying of the cold, the war, starvation...

This scarred table, 

the lamp that doesn't work,

The dirty carpet, scuffed and stained,

The shower that runs cold instead of hot,

All this I see, and yet I'm haunted still

By all the faces that may not see tomorrow.