Structural Integrity

The garage is cold and the light is a hum

above the pile of scrap wood on the floor.

I feel my fingers starting to go numb

as I look at the hinges and the door.

I tried to move the shelf I made last year

to reach the tires stacked against the wall.

But I didn't use the brackets out of fear

or laziness, and I watched the whole thing fall.

The pine boards buckled and the frame just split,

the wood is soft and smells like old, damp rain.

One stripped screw glints where the driver bit,

a silver tooth that's biting into the grain.