The Family Room.(Poem)

 
THE FAMILY ROOM 
 
   1. 
 
   The builder's mate smashed our young fig tree flat. 
   He called from his car window--I've killed your tree. 
 
   In the uninflected voice of someone who has sat 
   all night in the children's ward and driven to work. 
 
   He wielded power tools and climbed ladders like 
   a somnambulist, who is bulletproof. Building our 
 
   family room. The day they were, digging footings, 
   long graves, the vet put our ancient goat to sleep. 
 
   There's just too much death about--I said. Spade 
   in hand. Then the rosella tangled with the window 
 
   where a window had never ...