TANGO TANGO

[My friend’s code for Trailer Trash]

by Virginia McIntyre


My home. A 280 sq ft tin box, rocks in the wind
like a boat broadside of waves. The door duct taped

in storms. Inside too hot, too cold, a cardboard
chimera of insulation. Lopsided leaky windows.

Outside I walk in a wilderness of trees --
authors of thought. Monastic in silence.

Half a mile away, Raven slices the air
with wings of a poet, lofting sound into sight.

Inside, extension cords stalk heaters,
lamps, the coffee pot, while sandalwood incense

wrestles with two-dog scent. No neighbors,
no shades, no speeding cars. I walk on trails

incised by javelina, cougar, fox – hillside scribes
mapping contours, taming Creation.

My life is a silver vein lodged in metal.