The bulldozer is slowly tugging
at our neighbors' gazebo
perched on the edge of Nan's Cove.
It is in the way.
No matter it sheltered from sun and mosquitoes
generations of watermen come ashore
with bushels of oysters, bluefish, crabs,
wives peeling apples, shelling peas, husking corn,
picnics of fritters and melons.
No matter the screens are torn,
door off one hinge. It still frames
sunrise and sunset and the moon.
Last spring a duck nested inside.
Swallows, wrens -
Immense yellow chains gird the octagonal flanks.
Enormous tires churn the lawn into mud.
You'd think such a flimsy structure would yield
like a box of stick matches,
roof shingles flying like cards played out.
Must be something about the foundations,
or the man who hammered the nails.
The gazebo shifts slightly
but stays in the way.