Shutters

Stares at the shutters, broken,

dangling awry on one screw,

moving with each gust

of wind, breeze, unpainted,

paint peeling, weather worn,

weather wearing, wearing

weather like a faded

hand-me-down, maintenance

unremembered, left

to the forgotten memory

of others.

Imagines her leaning

from the upstairs window,

remembers her leaning,

laughing, the mother

frowning in front-porch

disapproval, but she leaning,

laughing, not caring.

The shutters were painted,

then.

Photograph by David Wagner via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.