The Sonneberg Summerhouse

Dean Sobers

‘Where’d you get the forklift truck?’
‘A friend. It’s gone before you’re up.’
‘And what will you do with all this wood?’
‘I feel I’ll build something. A shed.’

From by the seat, he proffered up
a chainsaw. Taking it, I said
‘Thanks for asking before borrowing.’
‘You’d have talked me out of going.’

‘You’d have thanked me for that later.’
He stubbornly pursued the woodgrains
with his eyes. ‘Have lawyers called?’
I asked. ‘She won’t.’ ‘Won’t rise to it?’

‘I’m glad I did it,’ he murmured.
His half of their summerhouse
lay stacked in servile ruin by him
with no retort. I tried to think

of something else my brother could
be told. ‘I’m sure it’s quite a sight,’
was my best. I headed in,
knowing my mind would run tonight.