Poland Spring

A steam locomotive rusted to tracks lies in a ditch to bury A kousa on a yard sale, final; B&B rotted with soil pouring forth, the roots exposed no longer able to absorb the sweet life flowing from the nozzle. The sky turned blue and the air was nipped. The door was closed to dust and how it moved turned the passerby. The willows by the river turned dry On the edge of an empty highway. The wind blows strange 'round here Onto the back of the limbs of oxen plowing the fields, gettin' on the sewed fields while the farmer stands drinking from the whiskey jar. He fires the still so he can kill his last horse because a leg is broke. The lady stands inside, clean and narrow. She's gaunt inside and tumbling down while her babe weeps but has learned to shed tears in silence (they were never secumbed). 1930 came hard and starved what was left of Oakies sticking hard to land. You wanted more when you asked for less, it was not your fault it all went wrong and hurt me. Push'd 'round the grocer's, we woke today with pain. the cover's warmth is all not to change while it ran me 'round. A pistol shot rang the bells of hell I done it for a thing I won't say. He hit the ground, all that was left behind was only what he tried to find. Abiding the time and laws of the plains made no sense no more and I know I will not be condemned if I deny.