boat on the roof

This ain’t Ararat!
This weather-worn, dilapidated shed
that’s seen better, but not much better days.

And this tub is no Ark,
this boat perched precariously on a rooftop.
“Keep Off” says the sign on the wall,
but boats don’t read.

What flood of tears lifted you
to such exalted heights? 
Did a farmer tire of fishing
and hoist you aloft with his front loader,
making space for newer toys?
Perhaps some spiteful ex-wife
jacked you up to make you inaccessible
when hubby came to claim you. 

Whatever miracle of levitation it took
to ground you at this height,
one day the miracle of gravity
will bring you down, slowly sinking
through deteriorating shingles and rafters,
collapsing in a slow implosion
of the flood of time. 

Liz McFadzean