drought flav.A Poem by h d e rushin
It appears your account is overdue, payment has not been made or we were unable
to process your payment using your current payment method. Which is a clinical way
of saying were cutting, discontinueing, disconnecting, suspending, cancelling, calling in,
foreclosing on you with the pink slips we send like the dirty underpants of little girls
who played tag with friends, under the swings, after the hard rain.Press 0 to speak to
an agent or login to our account with that outdated computer with the frozen mother board
and the half-wit processor. Start again by making your account current. Just leave everything
emplace before you cancel yourself out. Before you become thin as silk from the grinding
filature, where the reeled spools of men stack themselves like bear browns and barn grays
like the nest of the figwasp (in the foliage not the leaves) or whisper pale whispers
like that old dobbin quiet horse on the drought sticken Illinois corn farm, begging for rain.
any f****n rain, like abra-cadabra the sky can open up with the shout of the magical charm
and the purest mixture of relief and abstractionism can soak the fields again and fill the silos
as ampulla and sanctanomy. Why pray for that when you can pray for the brisling, cool
that flushes over the short sleeved, still coarse hairs of filament on sundrenched burled arms.
Whether the barn is chockfull of word choice or eponym for the poems I feel deep in my bones
when passing the cattle auction and whether you're a lifelong rancher or a family farmer
you taste the emptiness in the ferriage or the fertilizer like the grit in the sweaty eyepatch.
Between you and I, I hate summer. Often shackeled to the rattle of the spinning fan,
drinking my cornsyrup grape drink habitually and full thronged.
The fetor of the cat litter im'e too damn exhausted to change
not for the cat,
but for me.
© 2012 h d e rushin
Added on July 18, 2012
Last Updated on July 18, 2012