fredericksburg

across the lawn
from the college
and the grey
statue of a soldier
from the civil
war, the old house
made of white
clapboards
and tin roof, sags
with the weight
of time and rusted
nails. there is
not enough love,
or paint and
varnish to bring
it all the way
back, but the workers
climb on it like
bees to honey.
and someone, even
with the cracked
window, the leaking
pipe and the smell
of mildew someone
will buy it
and call it home.