COFFIN REQUEST

Bury me in a boxcar
Preferably headed west

Graffiti I don’t mind
A little rust, no matter
Loaded with grain, fine

A serpentine processional
John would be proud of

Hauling ass out of Thunder Basin
Inching up the Gravely Range
Mud Butte on the horizon

The wind taunting my
Dead cold feet

A blanket of coal provides
Solace from deafening crickets

In North Platte, Nebraska,
The rail yards hold tight
10,000 better tomorrows

###

NIEGHBORS

Books and learning came easy
An academic gelding drawn to water
Some say gifted, always thirsty

Donny. Donny was the bright
One
But it was never enough
Books couldn’t pay the bank note

–

A honkey tonk tragedy on wheels
The favorite from day one
(Always had another bottle)

Chuck. Chuck had promise
Once
Sans charmer, just a good time
He knew no better, no worse

–

Good times hardened his veneer
Painted over the inky black and blue
Jocularity tried, but failed to conceal

Conrad. Conrad would’ve been a
Legend
If not for providence
A family man with no family

–

The beginning, then the unraveling
A slow, smoldering dejection
The family tree flat-felled

Torment. Torment dovetailed them
Together
Hung on the wall like needlepoint
Always quick to jab at the heart

###

LEVY

Top the levy you could see for miles
A twisted muddy esophagus
Flowing outward, constricting
Pretty things gather on shore

Tiny furnace traps
Rooftop sandcastles
Floating babydolls
No tags, no hope

Seth had no chance
Overdrawn dreams
Walls of canned sausages
Should have seen it coming

The church basement is full
Crawfish sinners
Sunday sweet tea
Drowning one by one

###

IT WAS 1972 OR 3

Coddled by your insect touch
I lean towards the crack in the window
Time to scratch the horse’s belly
I scrub the floor as you soak

You insist it was 1972

Saddles hang in the brooder shed
Cigarettes are hard to come by
I laugh at your lewd
interpretation of “Some Like It Hot”

My teeth fall to the ground

Lavender-primrose bath salts
agitate my sandpaper elbows
You chop thistles in the pasture
My tongue folds inward

Iced tea afternoons lead to rehab

Snow angels in the dirt
You left your belt in the lane
My wallet escaped the sofa
Remembering big dipper dreams

I eat alone on the solstice

BIG ROCK LAKE

After 137 years of rock-picking, flatbed-loads of bent plow blades, and five generations of annual cultivation, it appeared. I guess “appeared” would be an understatement. It actually stopped Carl’s 656 dead in its tracks, a jolt so violent Carl’s hat went flying as the front-end lifted off the ground. The little IH, muscling it’s way through the Minnihaha loam, simply reached its limits. It stalled out upon impact.

Shaken but not stirred, Carl hopped off the tractor with grin intact to investigate. Once he located his sweat-stained hat, he looked to see a salmon-colored slice of granite poking out of the furrow. The beast of a rock had crumpled up the six-bottom into a tin foil, origami heap. The first arm of the plow had been twisted, the third had an unsightly tear, and the forth was missing — ripped entirely off. First using his boots, then his hands, Carl dug down to uncover more of the pink giant.

Most rocks plucked from the once virgin prairie farmland of Red River Valley were softball sized or smaller. Not this one. After mucking around in the dirt, Carl knew he needed help removing his new-found “Pink Lady.” Three John Deeres, one F350, and four broken chains later the beast was resting atop the earth. Like a haystack propped atop a feather pillow, the horizon sagged under the rock’s weight. Clumps of black, cake-like dirt clung to the massive beauty. Like admiring a Paleolithic shrine, the farmers stood beneath the gleaming granite marveling in silence.

Towed to an empty feedlot behind the farrowing house, the ”Pink Lady” was hosed off before being heaved to the front yard where it dwarfed Carl’s house (it’s custom in these parts to adorn one’s lawn with such rare treasures). Carl would sneak out of the house after All in the Family to admire his prize chunk of stone. Sporting his boxers and Tony Lamas, he’d light a cigarette and gawk as the moon peeked out from behind the clouds to cast the big rock’s shadow over him.

Once the “Pink Lady” had been excavated, Carl waisted no time getting back to plowing. He decided to leave the bus-sized crater formed by the big rock’s removal. From his tractor seat, Carl imagined his “Pink Lady” nestled under the soil as he tilled around the hole. 

By the time Carl was ready to plant, the cavity had filled with water. He thought nothing of it. By the time Carl was ready to cultivate his corn, the water level had risen and the newly-formed pond reached across half of his field. By County Fair time Carl’s entire field was covered in water. By hunting season his out-buildings and home had been entirely flooded over.

Standing on the shore, Carl looked out over his new lake and beamed ear to ear. His “Pink Lady” stood tall—a sparkling granite island in the middle of “Big Rock Lake.”