Asleep In a Haycock
Jack got up at two
O'
clock.
felt his breath - stopped.
legs buried
a foot within
a sock without;
he had gone about
all day and fought
the spray of bullets meant
for a dashing hare
instead a father
with wisping hair
sour breath
and fragile heir
had kicked a load
of cold buckshot
into the leg his
bod had birthed
novel and lurid cause for his tacit mirth.
Copyright © Paul Sylvester | Year Posted 2005
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