Build the porch after the house
and it will groan to the trees
that grow to lean in above it
as long as it stands.
Use pennies in place of fuses
and every lamp will tarnish the walls
and each corner will fold
shadow into its empty pockets.
Pry up flat slate from the path
and drought will follow
the bare dirt patches you left
right up to your garden gate.
This poem first appeared in Riggwelter (#27, July 2020)