Palette

Prying off the boreds

To fill the empty space

Stripping the surface of dead wood, rusty nails

Deconstructing shapes of its former function

Form or function?

Why can’t he just have it all?

The scrapped palette had been useful for carrying heavy loads had broad shoulders and big hips like a wooden workhorse

Now found free in a heap behind the dumps-her with the other big trash

Bare bones, a wing of stringy plastic clinging by a staple in the breeze

No longer carrying the weight

Destined to become a trendy accessory

A fashionable table from where he’ll feast.

Born in Providence