ROOFING

Lapping each course in record two-four time,

The three-tab shingles overran the roof

Above, as hammer blows rained down hard rhyme

To render what was overhead sure proof

Against the elements. Three workers struck,

Their lugged soles pounding down the pitch in dance.

Ebullient Spanish flew, and then . . . the truck

Was gone, without a single backward glance.

Inside the house, now dazed by how the crew

Rattled its frame, and how their thunder shook it,

We set about to right what was askew,

Straightening every picture that was crooked.

Still stunned by that Flamenco’s plosive strain,

We waited for the lightning and the rain.