a spoiling ceiling

goodnight baby

The ceiling had released itself through flaking its color onto the people below it.

More persistence from an attentive sky.

It wrinkled its cream color from water bruising its walls. The water that escaped from the upstairs tub, from the many baths of a toddler.

The ceiling yellowed at the outlines from old, bad pluming.

You are about three.

Three year olds know nothing about water damage, so you frown back at the wall and remind the adults you are sleeping.

The noise is too loud.

The ceiling is crying, and where are the tissues for the crying cracked ceiling.

It wrinkled in response.

It continued to mix its color with water to puss onto the laid toddler. Your laid head. It interrupted the rocking by the beside’s lamp.

You frown again.

As its pus dripped more, you wonder why not the ceiling bled before it pussed. Why not had it said “excuse me” for the tissues. For the tissues,

for the crying cracked ceiling were scant and crumbled just as badly.

Above the grumbling of AC and adult conversation,

Above the sleeping toddler,

the sky had fallen to collect onto you.