It's a diverse part. A couple of still stand
at consideration like sentries at the closures
of their carports, however more lean
askance as though they'd quite recently gotten a blow
to the head, and in actuality they've gotten
many, all winter, from planes of wet snow
shooting off the bended, decreased cutting edge
of the furrow. Some look shaky, positioned
at weirdo edges or drooping sadly
on dubiously posting posts. One box
bows steeply forward, as though in disfavor, its entryway
lolling sideways, unhinged. Others are imprinted,
battered, streaked with rust, bound in channel tape,
mismatched with clothesline or bungee ropes.
A couple of lie abashed in remainders of the very snow
that thumped them from their roosts.
Another is wedged in the criminal of a tree
like an aviary, its post smashed close-by.
I nearly feel frustrated about them, exhausted
by the long winter, topsy turvy, not knowing
what hit them, endeavoring to hold themselves
together, as they sit tight for news from spring.
