I tore down the shed today
I can’t say it was difficult
the whole thing was rotten
I could’ve huffed and puffed and blown the shed down
dispossessing not three little pigs but
innumerable spiders
horrible as currants,
abandoning their nurseries
screaming from the light;
slugs, ribbed jelly thumbs
gummed to the strandline
of an upturned pot;
a brace of frogs, both alike in dignity,
stopping just long enough to give me the eye
before lolloping off any-old where

(and so on
I had a shed to scrap
you can over-think these things)

but now it’s all gone
ripped, pulled, smashed, stacked,
carted off to a designated recycling facility

it is no more
no roof, no floor
no window, no door,
that slouchy, shed defined space
released to wilder territories of air

I wonder if any of it comes back, though?
do spiders and frogs and slugs have a memory for these things?
for those bounded spaces where life once held them close?

do sheds?