Four grainy timber walls
Topped by a nondescript brown roof.
Physically utilitarian, recreational in purpose.
An ice fishing shack.
It is a perfect convenience
Erected after the thickening of ice
And serving one purpose:
It houses three men, or two and a dog
Who, warmed by a hearty wood stove,
Sit upon coolers and camp chairs.
Minding their rods, not their p’s and q’s.
At season’s shift from harsh to fair
The shack is left undisturbed.
Its purpose fulfilled, it settles in and
Waits for the inevitable.
Day’s lengthen and the lake’s frosty skin
Begins to perspire, then, to sweat profusely,
Until suddenly there’s a resounding “Crack!”
And the shack plunges under.
And the three men,
Or the two with the dog,
Now gather by campfire
Sharing stories and songs.