Friday, December 09, 2005

I need to pump out ten poems!

This morning's crap fest --

Regret is a town in Kansas.

Red brick paved main street. Lula’s Diner full at 5:30 a.m. with coffee and talk and silence and more coffee. Hedge rows divert the December wind. Branches like antlers, like elk in rut, cracking, rubbing and with the dawn they light like the first hit on a bowl, -- the boy can’t sleep and the embers flare and cut the edge. The wind is faceless, rattles his window, he shivers and is tired. History is this place. The men grab their cups to go, exhaust pours from flat bed diesels, each one heads to check cattle, talk radio, the ag report. Silos hold near each home. Mailboxes read, Ewerts, Rausch, Eck. K-State Wildcat heads and purple pride banners are doted on like John Deere engines, the wife’s Christmas pumpkin pie.

No comments: