Читать книгу Kindest Regards - Ted Kooser - Страница 36

Ladder

Against the low roof of a house

in the suburbs, someone has left

a ladder leaning, an old wooden ladder

too heavy to take down for the night

and put up in the morning, the kind

that reaches beyond such a roof

by a good six feet, punching up

into the sky. The kind with paint

from another world on its rungs,

the cream- and butter-colored spots

from another time, the kind that

before you get up in the morning

knocks hard at the front of your house

like a sheriff, that stands there

in front of your door with a smile;

a ladder with solid authority,

with its pantlegs pressed, a ladder

that if it could whistle would whistle.