Up the narrow staircase and face south, the door mumbles something as he passes through.
smoke still  loiters around like arrogant teens, poisoning the air above.
Dozer leaps over a wrinkled beer can and slides to the corner, the bare mattress numbs his paws.
The television still flickers a ghostly black,
gnaw the tiger in hopes that it will still cry. And wait for the return.


-A house of my own
 I enjoyed this short story (if you can really call it a story)  by Sandra Cisneros. Although it was really short, it has a lot of description and hints at a stronger story somewhere. The picture painted here is of a house with a front porch and flowers outside, kept tidy by its owner who is proud to own a house of their own.