I need a potion for this house I bought.
Fannie sold it to me.
It was a great deal.
Made on the courthouse steps.

I got rid of the debris.
A half-rusted Weber grill, some plastic patio chairs.
I hauled out the beaten-up bunk beds from the small bedroom
and the queen mattress from the master.
New carpets, fresh paint, new appliances. Mine now.
But I hear voices at night so I need a potion.

The old-family kids laugh in the bunk bed room.
The old-family mom and dad talk money in the kitchen.
Late at night, they argue and cry.
The whole old-family wanders around my kitchen in the morning.
So I need a potion to drive out the old-family spirit squatters.

A judge from Bank of America said this house is mine now.
I am helping the economy recover.
I plan to do some landscaping – and install some security lighting
because this neighborhood went downhill fast.
I plan to make all of my payments on time.
I plan to stay healthy and never lose my job.

The family that lived here for ten years lost and moved away.
But their spirits think my new bargain house is still their home.
So first – I need a potion.