It was just a shed.
It stood solid
In the middle of a disused field
On Route 100.
Its slate grey cedar slats and shakes
Weathered from the years
Of storm and heat.
I noticed it as my wife
And I brought our newborn son
To see his grandmother.
Each year we would
Make the trek to Burlington
To Visit for Thanksgiving.
Slowly the shed began
To fail ever so slightly.
Time slipped away.
A second son joined us
To make the journey.
Grandfather died.
Our sons grew up.
Now the sides sloped
Severely still straining
To stay erect.
I must remember my
Camera to picture the shed
Before it collapsed upon itself.
But my life got in my way.
On our way to bury our grandmother
In Vergennes
I noticed the shed
Was gone, just rubble
In the field. Just rubble in the field.
poems, but does not consider himself a poet. He has been
e has been an EMT for 25 years. He has published a book of
Vermont, loves lost, and life as an advanced emergency
e this year.