My father built this shed.
Thick concrete blocks set it too high off the ground.
The double doors are crooked,
making locking it near impossible.
Hastily fastened shingles flap in winter wind,
and cheap red paint has faded and flaked and fell away.
It’s empty now, but once held so much.
I swing the axe and splinter the frame,
ready to shed this grief.
Shawn Van Horn is the author of several short stories and poems and is now working on his third novel. He has been published in Our Time is Now,Wilmington Blues, Fourth & Sycamore, The Oddville Press, Adelaide, Every Day Fiction, The Mark, Remington Review, Vaughan Street Doubles, and littledeathlit. These can be found at Shawn Van Horn / Official Web.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/shawndvanhorn.