The wind has torn the roof
from the neighbor's knocked together woodshed
thrown it upside down blocking the muddy lane
a rectangular carcass of corrugated steel
its 2x4 ribs exposed to the storm.
“Dad will have to more that,” I say to our son
negotiating the path to the bus.
Walking home through the woods above
I hear my husband grunt
as he lifts one edge, and tips it up
lets it fall -- SPANG-CLASH!
up against the road bank.
The truck door slams
the motor purrs on out the lane.