She was too much alone,
too drunk that time.
Quite like tonight, except
that she's bedroomed and safe.
They can't do stairs, she thinks.

Yet if she ventured
to pry over the bannister
down into the grey varmint gloom
she'd certainly see some,
making good progress.

A sufficient detachment
of nimble squatters
springing and clawing.
Neat problem-solvers
setting things straight.