Gazebo

I am nearing the end of my time in Myerstown, Pennsylvania, for my first residency in theological studies. The hotel I’m staying at isn’t fancy, but it suits—clean and comfy bed, close to campus, plenty of space for my roommate and my stuff.

As I sat in the hotel courtyard earlier this week, I was reminded of Elizabeth Bishop’s poem, “Filling Station.” So here’s my bow to Elizabeth Bishop and beauty in unexpected places.

I sit in the hotel courtyard
On a metal chair
My books stacked on
A faded green plastic table with
A hole in the center for
An umbrella
That is not there

Tables and chairs
Line the periphery
Wood, metal, plastic
A hodgepodge of
Black, white, and mostly that faded green

Odds and ends
A metal bucket with rust on the bottom
An open box
A garbage can
And a green hose in a heap

Once (I imagine)
There were pots of geraniums or impatiens or some other
Bright and beautiful dash of color
On the chains hanging from hooks
Around the perimeter

And in the middle of the courtyard,
Surrounded by fresh black mulch
And evergreens
Ornamental grasses and hostas

A gazebo
A haven of fresh paint
And attention and care

I think of Elizabeth Bishop’s
”Filling Station”
And wonder, "why, oh why, the gazebo”