I never ever tore out a whole floor

down to the dirt, down

beneath the dirt, down into

the water table, down

further than metaphor to where

your problems are purely

substantial. Did you

dig deep enough? But

did you really

though? Will your inexpert weaving

of rebar and metal wire

support what you have


through decades,

through centuries?

Will they support children, the

children of children, footsteps upon footsteps,

for how long? I carelessly

throw the old joists into my a10yarddumpster,

each older than my grandmother’s mother,

from oaks older than her mother’s mother,

laid by hands long rotted into the dirt,

and I sprinkle the rotting cord with crumpled Miller Lite cans

like some wayward flower girl.

We replace them with 2x10s from Menard’s.

We jump on the OSB and marvel — the strongest thing I’ve ever built.

I cross my fingers. This is just how it is these days.