House Guest

I watched the ragged homeless guy haul refrigerator boxes out to the weedpatch by the train tracks.
Then, it was shopping carts full of broken appliances.
Item after item, he hoarded into a pile until I got curious.
There, in the tall grass, was a magnificent palace, constructed of junk and litter.
I was buzzed through the gate and met him at the front door.
“This place is amazing,” I said, and he gave me the tour.
A pool.
A ballroom.
A movie theater.
He smiled. “Now that I’ve got the guest house done, I’ll work on my mansion next.”