Old Turret
Michael Lauchlan

Old Turret

Shingling the old turret
you saw the nearness of things:
train depot, baseball stadium,
river, the bridge to Canada,
a college on the far shore.
In flat places a bungalow peak
opens vistas. A tower almost
beyond your ladder’s reach
left you perched on roof jacks,
peering into other worlds. How
close they seem, you’d have
told someone, but a turret
is a solo task and, hearing,
your crew would’ve never
looked up from loading tools
into a truck, from the soft
curses and sweeping that end a day.
The low sun kept you
moving, tab by graveled tab,
hammer echoing in still air.

Michael Lauchlan

has contributed to many publications, including New England Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, The North American Review, Harpur Palate, and Poetry Ireland. His most recent collection is Trumbull Ave., from WSU Press.