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 table

When I arrive at cabin 5

The large green plastic tag

Is a remnant of the motel era

Before magnetic passcards frustrated entry

Until swiped just right

for 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 grand

Then little Wendy who flits around like a glowing Tinkerbell

Except when she disappears into her den.

Shoil must have turned on the light over the sink

and for seven days and nights it watches us

Fixing ribs, tacos, soup and spaghetti

And boxes and bottles and more boxes of wine

WaRshing dishes with a capital R

Setting a buffet to share with friends

And the key is still on the table.

When the sun sets behind the gator

The sink light remains on

Inspiring the tapping of keys

Listening to the secrets of Cabin 5 shared in a circle

Waiting for the smokers who sneak outside

Guiding the late night potty run

And sending off the early morning walker

Trish who talks with her hands

Decides midweek to move the table

Squeak, screech, hobble, hobble

In front of the couch

As a home for her computer and creating

While watching the lake

But the key remains on the table

She adds a green light to the deck

In case Gatsby comes to call

And swims and shivers her way to a raft in the sun

The tower of TP on the back of the stool

Only dwindles by two --amazing

Until Wendy confesses she’s been holding in

Shoil packs first, plotting a course from

Glen Arbor to TC to Lansing and beyond

Then 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 Sue

Using the table as packing central

Dividing up celery and cashews

Praying for pitched recyclables

Drinking the last of the wine.

Time to find the switch

to turn off the light over the sink

Wheel the suitcases, haul the printer

And cooler and boxes and bags

There’s a new green light on the deck,

To remind Gatsby and the literary world

We were here

But as we close the door

The key is still on the table