way the horses chew
scares him. When their huge hooves
strike down in their stalls
he shies away, in danger
of backing into tools or machines.
The hay loft has holes, traps
hidden by bales, and to doze there
would bare him to rats.
One night a thunderstorm shakes
every board of the house. From his bed
he glimpses trees flung out
like stripped umbrellas. Birds
strike the house, fists of windy rage.
In the morning he runs to see
the calf that strangled
in the gate to its stall, head
thrust through the slats in fright.
They disengage it.
When they drop it into the wet hole
its body doubles up and farts.
One cousin laughs,
and all afternoon pitches the baseball
at him so fast his hands swell up,
but he stands there for hours.
That night, while the house sleeps,
he feels the dead beast settle
in its field, and he can not hold off
the hard white light that whirls
toward his face.
Leave a Reply