by Elizabeth Trew
The roof comes in all shapes and makes.
The tallest of all is the Everest
and the smallest one I know is the roof of the mouth.
The roof can be made of any material:
tin, cardboard, stone, grass, wood, snow, to name a few.
It can be pitched, curved or flat.
It can lean forward eagerly or sit back on its heels.
There is the happy roof, which lives with ease.
There is the cold roof and the burning roof,
the watertight roof,
the leaking roof, which keeps you damp,
and the sad, sagging one.
There is the noisy one when you raise the roof
or the quiet one, which rustles like a mouse.
There is the slippery, or sulky roof
and the grateful roof, if you let it be your friend.
Try not to hit the roof.
“I’m leaving!” my mother cried,
finding she was under my corrugated roof.