An Incomplete Restaurant

Will it ever be finished,
This well-windowed matchstick world?

They scraped the dirt long ago.
Were the blueprints used or new?

It’s a peculiar structure,
For sure. Low but turreted,

As if to beat back sieges
From armies of elves and gnomes.

The material’s nothing
Much special, the usual

Siding around two-by-fours
Raised on a poured-cement floor.

It’s not quite clear what it’s for—
It’s awkward, brutish, and short.

It could be meant as a home,
But it’s right beside the road,

Between a dying bookstore,
A prospering cyclery,

And two durably tacky
Wild-west tourist restaurants—

False-fronts, fake tipis, the works.
Another themed restaurant?

A fort? Given those turrets?
Whatever, it’s unfinished,

And there’s no progress on it,
And not many tourists now.

It squats, windows reflecting
Stars and headlights. Whole so far.