The Summer Shed

Here is the rusty pail
seen through a broken pane.
The axe handle
has long lost its blade.
Evidence 
of those who stayed,
scraped and painted
wooden boats,
kept memory alive in calico
on laundry lines.
Rear guard,
adversarial,
however phrased,
with a god 
who will not reason 
with our days,
kept history's loss
at bay,
kept a shelf of porcelain
that would perish
by accident,
inevitably one day,
yet assures us all of 
our intent to stay.



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