Plainsong #2 – a pastoral

Herefords lying down,
asses to the wind – this bodes of rain.
Cloud gray and anvil,
clobber shot and some ways off,
a cliff falls precipitous.
There’s manure in the air
because it’s November
and the harvest is in.
There’s manure in the air
for the fields need a feed
before snow tangles the greeds
of Autumn, and the Aberdeens
crush stubble leeward,
beyond the spruce breaks.
And there, atop a shaved hill,
a misthrown cone of gold,
shoveled by the shade hands
of gamblers in the shit winds
jangle in a pickup.

Image: Luca Basili on Unsplash

6 thoughts on “Plainsong #2 – a pastoral

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