Corrosion Proof

Forty bucks for a bucket to hold the rot.

I drag it over the gravel, a heavy scrape

that wakes the neighbor's dog. It's not

a lot of money, but it’s the shape

of another thing I’ll eventually lose.

Under the porch light, the zinc is a skin

of gray crystals, cold and hard to bruise,

waiting for the raccoons to try and get in.