New home: A poem of sorts

The dishwasher is training for a marathon,
Boston if the electric kettle has anything to do with it.
The TV stops and goes at my command.
Couches and desks fill up empty spaces.
There's a cat who adores me when I open a can
I climb out of the ground to greet the day
and shower beneath foot falls.

It takes six keys to enter, but only one to leave.