The Adirondack
is crumpled
into itself.
Deck construction.
Every day more
rotting wood
reveals itself.
It’s not what
you want to know,
but have felt,
a creeping anxiety
about your foundation,
the platform upon
which you have
built your life.
Assets and
liabilities in a
dead heat.
Liabilities pulling
out in front.
I see the dead
vines against
the house,
the leaves that
have piled up
beneath the bushes.
The ceramic cylinders
someone shoved
under the stairs.
There is the sluggish
septic system
that dictates
how much wash
I can do,
the fence leaning
into the neighbor’s
I am working on
eliminating worry.
And rake the chunks
of rotten wood
to put into the trash.
It’s good to know
what’s going on,
to be part of
cleaning it up.