Wooden Markers

Written by: Wayne Sapp

"There was an old cemetery 
in that fence row.
Thirty some graves I've heard;
no record of it at the court house."

The neighbor pointed past 
the corn rows, 
Round Up sterile,
to posts askew 
like aged teeth;
broken wire pulled down by sod,
prickly with random barbs 
and wild roses.

          No sign of it, or them,
who might be there yet,
no concrete vault 
or weather weary headstone 
to chip the disk blades.

Gone with 
the builder of the fence
ever fertile dust,
scattered by the plow.