Poem on the Reader

You’ll figure it out.
It may take awhile.
You might be puzzled.

You might get annoyed.
What is this up to?
What’s this all about?

This business with skies
Like plaster statues
Crumbling into dust,

Or this other bit
About the staked trees
Like flags against wind?

And what’s going on
With the sobbing child
In the locked, bare room?

It’s all up to you.
You’ll figure it out.
Readers always do.