The Unfinished Bench

It was supposed to be a place to sit.

Now it’s just a hazard in the driveway,

a skeleton of pine that gave up

when the humidity hit ninety.

The neighbor leaned over his fence and pointed a finger.

I tripped over a board that's twisting toward the sky

like a slow-motion wreck.

The screw is stripped.

The head is a flat, silver crater.

It’s staying there for the HOA to find.