The Key

I don't usually write in verse, but after spending a week at the Peninsula Writers Summer Retreat on Glen Lake, I felt inspired:



The key is on the tableWhen I arrive at cabin 5The large green plastic tag Is a remnant of the motel eraBefore magnetic passcards frustrated entry Until swiped just rightfor a green light.
Shoil is already there unloading her red gas hog,Claiming the cushy chair in the corner,Rearranging the furniture to her liking.Trish comes next with a printer the size of a baby grandThen little Wendy who flits around like a glowing TinkerbellExcept when she disappears into her den.
Shoil must have turned on the light over the sinkand for seven days and nights it watches usFixing ribs, tacos, soup and spaghettiAnd boxes and bottles and more boxes of wineWaRshing dishes with a capital RSetting a buffet to share with friendsAnd the key is still on the table.
When the sun sets behind the gatorThe sink light remains onInspiring the tapping of keysListening to the secrets of Cabin 5 shared in a circleWaiting for the smokers who sneak outsideGuiding the late night potty runAnd sending off the early morning walker
Trish who talks with her handsDecides midweek to move the tableSqueak, screech, hobble, hobbleIn front of the couchAs a home for her computer and creatingWhile watching the lakeBut the key remains on the table
She adds a green light to the deckIn case Gatsby comes to callAnd swims and shivers her way to a raft in the sunThe tower of TP on the back of the stoolOnly dwindles by two --amazingUntil Wendy confesses she’s been holding in
Shoil packs first, plotting a course from Glen Arbor to TC to Lansing and beyondThen Trish takes one last drive around the lake,Tells Carol’s poem with her fingers, and fades into the night.The final day finds Wendy and SueUsing the table as packing centralDividing up celery and cashewsPraying for pitched recyclablesDrinking the last of the wine.
Time to find the switch to turn off the light over the sinkWheel the suitcases, haul the printerAnd cooler and boxes and bagsThere’s a new green light on the deck,To remind Gatsby and the literary world We were hereBut as we close the doorThe key is still on the table