Our work has stalled before we have finished the house.
The woodpile is only half cleared away.
The neighbors borrowed the ladder the other day
and thieves, it would seem, have made off with all the tools.
The players cannot seem to be aroused
but sit around the timber playing cards like fools.
So if you want to let them off, it’s up to you.
But there’s no telling if they’ll stay or go.
The deed’s been lost. They own it as much as we do.
I only wish they wouldn’t stay and taunt us so.
What? They’re out the door! Now maybe we’ll know
what they’ll come to as we peer at them through the drapes –
bad ends, or new beginnings, or simply themselves
as they stand off and assume other shapes.
The blades have all been removed. We’re left with the helves.
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