Dirt for KickingThe fantasy subsides.Dirt for Kicking by ~glen
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Oh Lord, the man that fell.
To dirt, to a patch of drying, shifted ground
nearest a wooden tract and nothing
where barking wind and that pine rot stink,
they never quite die out.
Widow woman is dragging her feet, digging
little, jagged lines in the earth
with her worn out, black shoes.
You can feel her trembling breaths,
see her low-closed, dripping eyes.
But did you ever
think about the white, wheezing cradle
bowing, forth and back, without a hand?
Can't you taste her fear, grandmother screaming
A rock is all that man is now! Child, let it go!
A stone really, she thought, being covered by the dead needl
deviation in storage by ~stervi deviation in storage by ~stervi