That’s him
pulling his shadow
across the yard
like a sack of oats.
Here he is on the porch
selling his garden tools
to some strangers.
Nothing sad about that.
They left the engine running
so that they wouldn’t
have to stay too long.
Money talks
but it is a dull dull
language.
The gravel in the driveway
snaps under the weight
as the car pulls away.
The supports are down.
The barn sags
in the rain.
Thought
This poem is a companion piece to "Coming Home: Tanglefoot Lane" in that it is driven by the same sense of abandonment. It was inspired, also, by experience. I was driving down a country road in Iowa and saw a bunch of furniture and tools in the front yard of an old place. I stopped and chatted for a while with the owner, who was selling out. I finally purchased a plant stand/book shelf. He was selling some garden tools, but I had no place to keep them.
Published in San Pedro River Review, Spring 2017
