The Thing Nobody Used

The hammock was strung between two oaks

in the back of his yard — good rope,

not cheap, the kind you can tell

someone measured before they bought it.

Four hours into the going-away party

nobody had sat in it.

People stood near the patio table

holding drinks they weren't finishing,

saying things about the new city

that sounded like questions disguised as statements.

The hammock moved a little

when the wind came through.

Just the rope taking the shape of the air.

The shadow it made on the dry grass

was a net, or almost a net,

shifting slowly, catching nothing.

He leaves Thursday.

He was very good at saying the right things

to the people who said

they'd miss him.

I stood near the fence for a while

watching the hammock.

I don't know what I thought it was going to do.

I don't know what any of us were waiting for.