Monday, February 28, 2011

Shadows

Shadows

Soft breeze and fog frost on sagebrush.
A roadill coyote pup roadside for a week.
I drive past a shuttered church
and old time country music comes to mind.

A gnarled man sharpens a pocket knife
on a train track east of Soap Lake.
Disguised as newlyweds, kids sulk
on a motel bed, stare out a window.
A local basketball coach,
arteries about the burst,
bellows at his players,
Gentlemen, let's place
the exrement on the scales.

My neighbor,
a dryland wheat farmer,
bought, over the internet,
a Serbian riot baton
for his children...
so they'll know history.

So many rose petals
moonward.
Stop asking if I ever see
the walls I crash into.

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