New Shed

The next door neighbor has put up a new shed in the backyard,

nothing fancy,

a rather small thing with walls of corrugated steel

on a wooden cross-beam platform and cinder blocks.

It’s been almost two years since we moved in,

and my husband hadn’t introduced himself until a few days ago.

I didn’t tell him directly,

but I wanted him to ask the neighbor about the new shed.

What’s its purpose,

hiding underneath the sole,

but large,

tree in the backyard?

The best part of me wants it to be a workshop

for creating children’s toys

or puzzles for arthritic hands

or puppy playthings

or art.

The lesser part of me thinks it might be an attempt at a bunker,

full of rice and beans and jarred tomatoes.

It wouldn’t matter if he cleared the nuclear blast

or avoided the first wave of zombies.

No one can live in a 4x8 space

and survive.

The worst part of me believes it’s the base for a serial killer,

limbs hung from meat hooks,

drying out for human jerky,

or skin dresses in a size 12.

And I wonder why it can’t have been a storage shed from the beginning.