Dutch Door Poem by Francie Lynch

Being called to the car
With never an explanation
Was like buying
A nickel grab-bag:
The surprise still wanting.
Waiting, never knowing how long,
Hoping for something
To keep us amused.
This was the penance,
But the sin was never confessed to us,
The penitents.
Did holding the corpse
Of a measle-ridden daughter
Erect the personal force shield
Of space;
But time has reavealed
Through respirators
And piles of dirt
He always had the choice
To wall in,
Or hang a Dutch door.