Extraction

The landlord’s truck has a rattling hitch.

I hear him on the gravel,

counting the minutes until he can change the locks.

The oak is too wide for the door frame,

so I pulled the hand saw from the trunk.

The teeth are biting through the varnish

into the pale, dry meat of the wood.

I am not a carpenter.

The cut is crooked,

leaving a jagged, raw split

where the grain finally gave up.

I’ll leave the legs behind in the dust.

Let him figure out how to lift

what I had to break

just to carry it out.