Its shoulders sag
With the weight of an unnamed tragedy,
Perhaps not very tragic at all.
On its lap lies a fine powdery dust--
A reminder of what once was, Perhaps might have been.
It is abandoned on the side of the road
Left behind, but not forgotten,
Left alone, but never ignored.
You may ask why
But you will never get the same answer.

He lives in his parents' basement
With his beer,
His thoughts,
And his cat, Lucille.
He tells me it's there because of laziness
As he strokes Lucille's fur.
Deserted due to laziness,
Remaining for the sake of convenience.
He tells me they all see it--
Every one of them--
But it's too cumbersome, too much work
To address.

She sits upon her porch
Rocking, waiting, watching.
An unfinished scarf caught
Between two skinny needles.
She's nervous when I visit;
nervous every time.
She shows me her kids, grandkids.
After she puts the pictures away
I ask her
What she thinks of it,
That thing on the side of the road.
But she doesn't answer, doesn't want to.
And so she sits,
Rocking, waiting, watching,
Until I make my silent exit.

He stands behind a counter
A smile on his face,
An ache in his feet,
But he would never complain.
The store is his prized possession, he says.
Been in his family forever, he says.
He stops smiling when I ask him about it;
That thing on the side of the road.
Nothing wrong with it.
No reason it can't be there.
He wants me to nod, to smile back,
To agree.
But I don't.

She waits tables at the diner.
She spends her break
Smoking cigarettes behind the library,
Reading old travel guides.
We don't meet often, but when we do
She likes to talk about the thing,
That thing on the side of the road.
She promises me she'll fix it up
One day.
When she has more time,
Enough money,
Better plans.
One day.

I watch
In a strange state of unacceptance
As it
That thing on the side of the road
With exaggerated, hopeless patience
Withers away.