April 2, 2014 § Leave a comment

ours was the last of them

standing as
an obstacle,
defined by decay
and labeled a hazard
by the town council –
more than a year ago

so this summer, if
municipal progress moves
at the pace
it seems comfortable with,
I’ll kick some
trash off
porch steps
and enjoy a beer
among the ghosts there,
I know

every inch of that porch
seventeen feet across
twelve boards deep,
carved into a rail on the
Hemlock side,
a set
of initials long since filled
by layers of paint

somebody downtown
will determine –
complaint calls from
young couples moving
into new builds on the street

have piled up enough to
warrant somebody else to
get their shit together
and tear the eyesore down

so there is no guilt
as I work a screwdriver
under the number
nailed to the front door trim

the sound of the spikes
as they are pried out is
not unlike
of an abandoned dog
whining in the rain

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead


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