the crow of a rooster

it's an enormous shed,

almost

a barn

set out in the far west

side of

the long yard.

circa 1929, but it's still

up.

the wood still strong

and painted red.

new boards nailed in

where

the rotted ones fell.

a weathervane still sits on the arched

roof,

a silver arrow

turning with

hard winds.

the cows are gone, of course,

no chickens,

no horse.

it's where the bikes go now,

the jet ski,

the old tires,

old things too good to be

thrown away.

chairs for the pool,

sandbags

and salt for winter.

shovels and mowers.

how nice though it would be

to hear the crow

of one

old rooster when the double

doors are opened.