we will become

it bewildered you,
as a young boy, tramping through
the woods,
no path, or road
beaten down to follow,
up the ridge,
where the trees thickened,
how did these things
get here.
the avocado stove,
the white
refrigerator,
a washing machine on
its side,
the rusted door swung
open with the remnants
of a nest, sticks of straw
inside. who made this effort
to bring
these things here, leaving
them?
you touched each one,
forcing the oven door open,
turned the knobs
on the lifeless range.
how strange life seems
when things are out of place,
abandoned, not unlike
the old
we will become.