Away with Boards

The last storm shook
the forsaken barn until it
wobbled on its foundation
fragile enough for one more
wind push to crush it down.
We looked at it in silence,
she and I, without words.
She owned the barn, I did
the work. She made her
decision when she said
to herself, ‘‘Those gray barn
boards would bring a fortune
in New York.’’ Like a caress
she said again, ‘‘old barn boards.’’
I shrugged peasant’s shoulders.
After she had gone I would
set a match to it—let the city
find its own boards.