Black Friday is coming

All the pretty buyers peruse
used transmissions, dishwashers
(black), a chrome towel rack
and O extravagance! extra fancy
wisps of lace to conceal the steam
of a hot, hot shower. Cheap blue
paint the color of robin’s eggs is
on the list. Down the street,
despite rain and frost, a new roof
is huddling over an old one. Chris,
who raises it, keeps a motorcycle
in his tool trailer, the better
to zip home again when work,
lunch, or lost nails beckon. His
radio blasts old rock and roll,
the neighbor dogs chew old bones,
and Black Friday sales of newer-
better are coming. We'll be
at the flea sale. We will not be there.

news from a small town 17 November 2012

Holiday dining

Hanging suspended, black and yellow seeds
swim slower than the eye can see
in frozen suet.  Swinging south,
winter sun and frozen fog
wash over frost on frost on snow
out there where winter range is.

Blowing soft, no wind anyone can see
jangles hanging tidbits invitingly.
Flashing black and white,
a downy woodpecker tucks in.

Crunching down the road,
some one - no one we can see -
is traveling home for the next
wild berry pie perched precariously
in a hot, hot oven.  It is time
for holiday dining, wherever you are.
 

News from a small town 16, November 2012

Minus

eighteen degrees in somebody’s system
also known by the sound of metal doors
not unlocking, the tang of skunk and icicle
the tunnel view of ice on windows
that won’t wipe free, the sound of wild
hooves skittering over wet barnyards
pretending to be tundra, the heartbeat
of sleeping quail in feather fluff the
crunch of wheels on the unyielding it is
night and cold and dark; no lights are on. 

news from a small town 16, November 2012

The lever’s down there

Let us sit in judgment on this, to
assess who wins. The category,
a clue. The winner, not so much.

How many miles do you get to go
a sputter, a spume of that red smell
wires make when they are burning?
  

How many stops to look under the hood
a rattle, a hot stink, some smoke
looking in the rearview wondering? 

And who is doing that? And all along
it’s you, it’s you – make no mistake
driving with the brake on all day.

And there are days no matter how
carefully you pull the right lever,
everything just sticks. Pull over. Sigh.

news from a small town 15, November 2012

First day of standard time

cold cotton caught on top rocks
scat snow hides talus trails
all the deer and elk are down in town

news from a small town 14, November 2012

Not unexpected

Sixty-five mule deer
laze again in the stubble.
It’s doe season, but
too many hunters
rode shotgun three days ago,
looking for prey.

And that's the signal
for every one of them
to casually wander
down to town - like always -
to a place where gunshots
draw attention - mostly.

 At night in the yard,
an apple hits the lawn.
It is gone by dawn.
Despite the grumbles,
this is not unexpected.
Deer know what they know.

news from a small town 13, October 2012

Minam Grade

Confronted with private wishes run awry,
do you make or run, rage or numb? No one
tells you this – but there are many ways
to get to the place you are going. And
you even don’t have to know where that is.

For: Any trip you don’t get lost at least
three times could be paradise or at least
opportunity lost. Just fly the scary corners
one loop at a time, and then decide
whose wishes are those, and how do you know?

news from a small town 12, October 2012