Damp dark red brick tiles

 They met in the front yard
The big family smiles and quips, repetitive inside jokes for you
The dead fathers close by holding their hearts and kidneys 
and making fun of the sunlight wandering about

In life you just need somewhere to go.
The house was seventy years old
every spec of dust like those kidneys priceless
The damp flavor of the tiles the squirty dusty aroma from them

It was enough to brush your face with a damp unclean hand
make you feel young when you were old
make you feel strong when you were weak
among other strange humid illusions

outside the house the kids worshiped grass and play
The wives forced laughter and the men bragged like old goats
soon to be slaughtered by the ailments they pretended not to have
The damp bathroom inside the house with the red brick tiles

slowly absorbing the excess water from everyday's use
until the solid organic smell came up to have a conversation
As if your smell and taste could talk back and contribute
more like an overpowering lecture on your senses

Night will strangle day
Sports will be cancelled
the women celebrate the opportunity
To hide their need for control under concerned calling

So that the wayward children and teens will find their way back
To overstacked plates they won't finish even at the risk of losing dessert
which they never do for facial manipulations pull heart strings
Limits and discipline die their slow deaths