The Barn

There’s a patch of amaranth that sits just outside the slanted door frame

It’s painted white like the windows, but it’s about half chipped away

Everything leans to the left, just a little

Too many years, battles with the rain

On the corner, a rusty crowbar hosts a lone shoot, crawling towards the light

And in the other a shovel, that twinkles a little in the light

You’d think it abandoned but it’s just too far up the driveway for pops nowadays

We built a new one, closer to the house

With a well lit path, laid with stone

Potted friends line one side and offer their leaves

He dries them in the new barn

He’s got quite a spice collection in there

Sometimes

If the wind blows just right

You can tell he’s out there

Smiling away with his big red cup