Sunday, December 2, 2012

I brought the wine but the lodge was creepy

Slid under the green and red and blue dull sparkle
of asphalt shingles thrown down in a damp pile,
a silent darkness is just near the dugout now hidden.

The mound is carefully raked in spring but under grey
winter when it's twilight and thick sliced potatoes fry
in kitchen windows yellow curtain lit at greasy dusk,

Minnesota has been moved to just north of Oklahoma,
the pine trees scrawled on the map are mere cartoons.


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