That spring there was a party on the farm
when the severed stalks of corn were stubble
jutting from the muck like half-submerged
pilings of a rotting dock, and someone
had parked their car in the middle of the field--
it looked so strange, like an abandoned boat
off-balance and embarrassed to be left
leaning on land where drought had leeched the sea
away around it. It was Easter morning
I remember now, and halleluiah
rang from drunken lips around a keg
floating like a buoy in the crowd.
Faithless, we felt something of God then
gathered together, wishful fishers of men.
when the severed stalks of corn were stubble
jutting from the muck like half-submerged
pilings of a rotting dock, and someone
had parked their car in the middle of the field--
it looked so strange, like an abandoned boat
off-balance and embarrassed to be left
leaning on land where drought had leeched the sea
away around it. It was Easter morning
I remember now, and halleluiah
rang from drunken lips around a keg
floating like a buoy in the crowd.
Faithless, we felt something of God then
gathered together, wishful fishers of men.
Gathered together, wishful fishers of men
we made our mark, if not on the world,
in the manure and the mud spread for corn
until our sneakers were ruined and our shirts
torn from dodging into the bordering woods
to take a leak or purge. As the day wore on,
more and more music mingled like strangers
at a bar, weaving and winking from speakers
strapped to backs in the crowd, and from the car.
One dude passed out, and we carefully laid him
in the backseat. He was there three hours
a halo of his own vomit around his head.
Even those who didn’t know him cheered when he rose
and tore off across the field without his clothes.
Torn off a cross, scarecrow without his clothes,we made our mark, if not on the world,
in the manure and the mud spread for corn
until our sneakers were ruined and our shirts
torn from dodging into the bordering woods
to take a leak or purge. As the day wore on,
more and more music mingled like strangers
at a bar, weaving and winking from speakers
strapped to backs in the crowd, and from the car.
One dude passed out, and we carefully laid him
in the backseat. He was there three hours
a halo of his own vomit around his head.
Even those who didn’t know him cheered when he rose
and tore off across the field without his clothes.
the sack of rotten husks became our football
punted and passed from hands to drunken hands.
Next came fire, breaking branches, bics
tipped into the mess of sticks and six-pack boxes
prepared for our revel’s scapegoat. Viking burial
in honor of the crows. Our dead mock Fawkes
with his bled grin spinning in the sparks
gave warmth the sun yet couldn’t. Then it spread,
it caught a stalk, and the whole row fucking blazed
corn like candles. We all went down on our knees
and beat the matchsticks out with muddy hands
and sneakers. Cold once more, small clouds of smoke
bloomed from our mouths like dandelions when we spoke.
2017
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