An Old Barn

By Doug Tanoury

Under the straightness
Of the nearby silo that is domed
Like an Orthodox cathedral

An old barn near the road
Leans twenty degrees
In a southern direction

A door hangs diagonal
Held in place
By one rusted hinge

Nothing is plumb but every
Line is bent by neglect
Twisted to dereliction

Soon it will go completely South
Its boards and beams like turkey bones
Left in a platter

Each window frames
A broken glass pane
That is a portal for swallows

Sunlight shines through wide
Seams between planks onto machinery
Painted red by rust

And sleeping in darkness
Like a farmer napping in the hay
On an autumn afternoon

Doug Tanoury
dtanoury@ix.netcom.com