Sugarhouse

Poetry
The boards do not touch at the peak of the spacious sugarhouse
sunlight pours though gaps in the wall 
Steam rises from the evaporator 
past a single wire 
that holds two bare light bulbs

Two men

The older  
his tan fedora cocked to the side 
forearms clothed in wool 
his hands in leather gloves
perches on the edge of a sofa covered with a stained canvas tarp

The younger 
stands behind the evaporator
his foot resting on an overturned sap bucket
his back to a stacks of dozens more

A quilted red coat and red wool cap with flaps ward off the chill