Under Construction
On the shoreline,
set back from chipped and jagged cliffs,
a row of primrose houses sits
picture perfect, save one -
tumbledown, ramshackle -
Rotting tooth
in a near-perfect set.
Come the sunrise,
light paints a chapped and ragged lip
upon the waiting wall and drifts,
slow and lazy, draws back -
tentative, circumspect -
cavities stretch
on the front-lower left.
Foundations laid,
cement mixed;
the whine of drills
and the towering spike of a telescopic crane above.
Floodlights set,
scaffold fixed;
ready for excavation.
Open jaw, wide
gaping maw for diggers, shovels, picks;
a slowly filling gap. The rift
swells awhile, then contracts,
settling. Organized
blueprints lie
like X-rays in the light.
----
This poem itself has been under construction for months, having begun when the house - the subject - was simply a hole in the ground. Today seemed like a fitting day to finish it; happy National Poetry Day.
