by Curtis Blais (with a little help from Copilot - ABAB Rhyming Scheme)
The clock seems stuck while dust hangs in the air,
We pulled the slider—oh, what a costly crime!
Had we foreseen this grand remodel affair,
We’d saved that cash for quartz and island prime.
A window’s framed, though glass is weeks away,
Six, maybe eight, before the doors arrive.
The closet doubled—coats will have their stay,
A tiny win that makes the dream alive.
The pantry’s bones now stand with pride and grace,
No more the basement trek for snacks and spice.
Our future selves will thank this clever space,
For aging knees, that trade-off will suffice.
Three days they fought the tile and mortar bed,
The crew we hired with crowbars, grit, and might.
No glue, thank heaven—else we’d still be wed
To porcelain shards that cling with stubborn spite.
The bin out front devoured the old hot tub,
A sawzall feast of fiberglass and foam.
Next year, perhaps, a smaller, gentler hub
To soak these bones when dust has left our home.
Popcorn no more! The ceilings smooth and bright,
Young Eli masked, a warrior in disguise.
He scraped and sanded through the endless night,
Protecting lungs while chasing level skies.
Beside the hearth, new backing waits in line,
For maple shelves to hold our travel lore.
The island’s traced, the plumbers cut their sign,
And vents now shift to keep the kitchen warm.
So here’s to progress, slow but surely sweet,
Though dusty time may crawl and test our cheer.
Each clang and scrape brings closer what we seek—
A home reborn to love for many years.
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