How many New England winters, bitch cold,
has it withstood, never saying no to oil
pouring into its grubby, blue-black body.
No more the long hose that snakes from
truck to driveway to the outside nozzle.
Today two beefy men come: dismantle,
hack and haul away the oil tank.
Careful footwork gets the men up and out
through the cellar door while grunts, swears
and snipes–-shut an old bar down.