Shelter

Not snowing yet

the car heater barely works

driving crisscrossed roads

of our wide country

that are faint traces

in memory

 

find that crumpled shack

by the river sinking

into cold wet earth

off rough pavement’s wide curve

that mimics ancient water flow

the little place almost invisible

so covered in dead vine

and enclosed by bramble

 

the end of a muddy track reveals

a door covered in plastic

opening

and inside it is warm

as afternoon light slants

through hazy windows

 

scents of tobacco and coffee

enthrall as you speak

ah such comfort and joy

of your companionship

giving shelter

all these years

 

back then

when we had so much

it was the unhad

and now so little

it remains somehow

the unhad with

the been had.

 

– for Joe Petrick