Mere Straw
He stands in the middle of this year's crop;
a body of straw, stuffed into the clothes
of a beggar-man.
In the field's center, arms stretched wide,
with the implied discipline
of deterring robber birds; birds that mocked the wires,
strung with strips of cloth.
He has no conspiracy with winds; just stares
into the distance, seeing in lucid moments
the changing skyline; scaffolding around the church spire,
the lovely patch of green in the center of town
Involved in the convolutions of clouds, anything
that can bouy his spirits
Brian's Choice G, any form, any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Third Place
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