Repair

In my house, men tear out the floor:
hammering, then wood splits-
hour on hour. You almost need
safety glasses for this work, the blond says
and truly, as I go for the phone,
the kitchen is now rubble. Delight
a paste bubble in my throat. If anger is tangible
here it is, a danger to these men
who let fly plaster, the smell of something old
letting go. They unmake what I made
with my life, or where I made it.