Load-Bearing

Eight months of plywood on the front of that place,

the phone number spray-painted white on its face.

The front wall open to weather since last spring.

I slow at the light on Thursday, noticing

the corner panel bowing out from the nail —

one nail still holding — the whole sheet going pale

and soft from the wet, warped into a lean

outward. A gap. Wide enough to see between

the plywood and the frame. Dark inside.

I don't look long.

The light changes. I drive.

I don't call the number.

I've never called the number.