The gray boards
of the deck
are damp with last
night’s rain.
They match the cinder
blocks, left over
from a make-shift
dismantled for
the recent repairs
and left standing
in a tight flank.
Another indecision,
something I wanted
to be rid of,
like the rusted
pink lawn chairs
you want to keep.

The carpenter
who did the work
was sure enough
of what should be done
with our life.
The yuccas dangerously
out of hand,
the bougainvillea that
should be cut back.
Certain he could
do much better
with our house,
his judgment said,
like all the other
suffocating judgment
I’ve tried to crawl
out from.
But we’re the ones
who have the house,
I think.
So there.

I weakened and thought
of putting the board
and block bench back
because its absence
left the deck
so bare.
But the board
is too heavy
to carry alone
from where it lies
in the yard.
And so the blocks
huddle together
in the damp,
another detail,
something else I have
not accomplished,
am not doing well.