Torch Lake I - Built of Inconvenience

Huddled under the Northern Michigan Umbrellas Popped open With cherry bows of pink blossoms Is our little family cabin Not so much Made of brown brick and mortar Glued pounded and squared together In the 1950s But placed on a slab of summer sun Face up Shining on the tiffany tiles of Torch Lake Built of stacked bunk beds Ten of them Hammered together with dad’s hands Oiled with homemade lemonade Poured by mom To our baby bird mouths Through the windows framed with leftover straw Yes, the screen door still creaks on its rusty spring Like a dorky doorbell from Father Knows Best I can feel our newer neighbors salivating With plans to expand their estates From an upcoming fire sale Every year they ask How’s your mom and dad? I douse their speculations with a quick “Great!” But I know And they know Time is not on their side I suppose we could sell to Chicago millionaires Right now Cash out Like all the other generations around us Replaced with vanity mansions of 30 or more barren rooms And their manicured lawns poisoned with fertilizer Dimming the lake each year to a darker shadow Of itself But I love our red wheelbarrow And the cobwebs of the Milky Way Swaying in the dusty corners The rusty nails of our fights and screams And wrestled nights with no air conditioning I get up in the morning Step over the fierce glare of sunrise And the carnage of my folks My brother and sister And all those barracks of snoring kids We will hold out And hold on To this sliver of light and water If you don’t mind Please To wait a bit longer Until we’ve completely and utterly finished And then all this can be yours.