Sheds left out in the darkness. Abandoned granaries, cats merging into the night. There are hubcaps cooling in the dark yard. The stiff-haired son has slouched in And gone to bed. A low wind sweeps over the moony land. Overshoes stiffen in the entry. The calendar grows rigid on the wall. He dreams, and his body grows limber. He is fighting a many-armed woman; He is a struggler, he will not yield. He fights her in the crotch of a willow tree. He wakes up with jaws set. And a victory. Ill It is dawn. Cornpicking today. He leans over, hurtling His old Pontiac down the road. Somewhere the sullen chilled machine Is waiting, its empty gas cans around it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY YOUTH by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE COLLEGE, 1917 by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG AN ANNOTATION by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THIS WAY FOR ROMANCE by BERTON BRALEY THE YOUNG RABBI by E. C. L. BROWNE VERSES: THE FIFTH BOY by JOHN BYROM |