Soon this northern city will be just another aisle,
stacks of ketchup and racks of white blouses
within spitting distance. They invite you in,
say have a nice day, greeters charged to help
find what you’re looking for: just milk
and bread. Pay the plastic fee, slide a card,
and get to the list of chores. I’m pouring concrete
into many holes, letting it dry, trying to finish
before the first hard freeze, steel poles sticking
straight up.That pile of boards? Call it a fence.
Copyright © 2014 Tod Marshall
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.