The eaves wait and listen, wondering if I’ll have nice things to say about the patio
Birds have already gone about their business.
They’re flying from the gutters on the roof to the trees.
The cat thought he was stuck up there
And I told him to get down the same way he got up there but he didn’t listen.
He finally figured out another way, though, And managed to jump from the top of the porch To the highest step below. He’s already moved on to another adventure, another tree with branches that lead to the air.
The patio is packed with caked mud, dead leaves, a jug of gasoline for the mower, pieces of a pallet that will feed the fire next winter, and so many salvaged nails and screws, Boxes of shingles, bags of lawn food and the last two boxes of the stuff we gathered From Nick’s apartment when he died.
Its hard to know what to do with it.
Its mostly clip boards and trapper keepers, But some of them still hold his artwork.
Of course I’ll keep the art
Even though it breaks my heart to look at it.
My dog must know exactly what I’m thinking And she decides enough is enough.
She fusses till I acquiesce
And take her back inside.