PAD 5

Just Another Old Barn on Highway 45

For thirty years,
this barn has been my friend.
In college, it told me that
my suburban life had been left behind.
If it had been in a
neighborhood backyard,
someone would have complained.
In my power suit days,
it was the marker that said I had
fifteen minutes left
to get to work on time,
and the speed trap
was five minutes ahead.
Its slow collapse
told me every day
that time was wearing on me,
and I could see my decay showed.
When I feared my life had turned to shit,
its splintered timbers taunted me
as they fell to the manure encrusted floor.
I saw them loading
grayed, worm holed planks
into a van today,
Home Renovations
in red paint on white doors.
Converted into tables
or paneling for a rich man's house,
the barn will have a new use.
The crape myrtle
across the road
will have to be my landmark now.