The Aluminum Slap

The latch gave up at half-past two.

The wind is pushing the metal through

against the frame with a steady crack

that sounds like a heart that’s coming back.

It hits the siding, then it swings.

A mess of wire and broken things.

A moth is tangled in the silver mesh,

a ghost of gray in a metal thresh.

I could go out and tie it shut.

I could find a rope or a piece of gut.

But I’ll just lay here and count the beat

of the aluminum slapping in the heat.