A porch is a place of surveillance. One does nothing; one watches. Sometimes I survey my street, but mostly I survey my things.

When I look at my porch, I think that I have seen this porch before. In glossy travel magazines. In coffee table books.

A porch is a collection of predictable objects. You’re supposed to start with a porch swing. I don’t have a porch swing. When I moved into my house, there was one out here, hanging, but the wood was rotten, and the chains were rusted, so I took it down and lay it by the trash on the side of the house. I don’t miss it. A porch swing is not a comfortable thing. You’re forced upright, the wood hard against your back, and then there is the rocking, back and forth. Such instability.

I selected certain things to live on my porch.