the white box
Friday, October 21st, 2011The lovely bread that
scents the air and steams when cut
came from a machine.
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The lovely bread that
scents the air and steams when cut
came from a machine.
• • •
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A brisk fall day in
the South comes long after fall
began. We are slow.
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What better way to
cool down after muggy day
than temperature crash?
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Each site taps the next
one on the shoulder to check
if they’re connected.
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The classes warred, and
the well-to-do had a good
chuckle at it all.
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The housekeeper swept
up shards of promises that
had broken last night.
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Once the bride and groom
left the church, the guests turned back
to the football game.
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No one paid heed to
his ideas, till they leapt
into our noggins.
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The strangers picked our
fields, built our homes, staffed our plants
till we kicked them out.
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A cup of fresh-pressed
cider awaits the weary
field hand at day’s end.
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She kept her love well
hidden, but it still peeked out
occasionally.
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He didn’t flinch when
they tried to silence him with
intimidation.
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Bike tires crunched the
leaves in their path, as autumn
prepared for hard times.
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The youths brought their signs,
their whistles and their voices
to bring down the man.
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Mighty were the teams
that stormed the field, called the toss
and clashed at the line.
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