Eight months

You break in at night, burglar and a cat,
Barricade and huddle. The first few days
Are harsh in winter, clearing the rubble.

You patch the leaky walls and pick your rooms,
Then plan a spring party to celebrate.
You jump the meter for a cheaper rate.

The water is cold and you go elsewhere
For showers. The neighbours politely snob
Your skipped cauliflowers. Summer moves in.

You've fixed the roof but the law wants you out,
And with fall comes the bailiff’s final call.
Eight months was not a bad run after all.