SOMETIMES
Sometimes I am supple, and
sometimes I am harsh - like
a difference in meaning of
nothing at all. The small hills
pass me, driving. I look sideways
at my peril; these interstate trucks
annoy my mind. They crowd and
they pass me; as if driving for a
mission takes precedence over
my merely driving. I enjoy the
world; while they work.
-
A dotted constabulary of barns
and houses, silos and fields, rolls
by. Brute cows on the ground and
at rest, or just standing to wait. Why
do they stare at the fence? Keeping
them in, or other things out? Some
foolish sign on the silo screams
something - the politics of dirt,
the seam of leisure, an anti-abortion
headline, screams - like a really
bad journalism writ large on a
public banner. I don't care; let
the dead bury themselves.
-
A 1968 Chevrolet is half sunk in
the field - mud to mid-wheels, and
twisted and leaning. The windshield
is cracked into three hundred pieces.
Mennonites have a farm stand up
ahead. Turkeys due in soon.
Thanksgiving again?
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