The bucket clanked against the circled well
Then plopped in mud at the bottom as it fell.
Only one bucket then, of murky water
To take to Mandy and their little daughter.

Abner chewed his tooth-marked pipe,
Pulled up his hat a bit to wipe
Running beads of sweat above his brows,
Said, "Whatever will we do now?"

Skies were blue, but tinged in gray
Heat waves rose too early in the day
"Looks bad again this spring for hay,"
Was all his Mandy heard him say.

"River's down beyond the turnouts now.
Ground's too dry and hard to plow.
Two dry years, and three now coming on,"
He cleared his throat. She put the coffee on.

"I talked to Cyril up the road last night,"
He droned, "This drouth may put the family to flight,
And I can't blame him when I see our cattle."
The baby cried when she dropped her rattle.

Mandy stooped to scoop the toy, gave it to their child,
"I can't remember when the country's been so riled
As though the people'd done some terrible wrong
To turn the heavens dry and gray so  long.”

Teachers stand on the shores of Time
Braced against howling winds of Change,
Nock living Arrows on straining bows,
Launch their Charges into darkening skies.
Teachers know they cannot long endure,
See Time moving with their aging eyes,
Do their best each future to assure,
Release each bolt and and bless it as it flies.

Let me live this life

so as

to lie lightly in my grave
unburdened with care
unstained by scandal
blessed to rest in downy peace
waiting to be carried
by blessed wings
to a holy Father

rather than

running from
debtors and collectors
desperately relieved to lie
beyond the claws
of broken love
or broken law
fallen in a grave
of uneasy escape
dreading my way
to smoking perdition
dragged down by
my sin's own talons

1960s small town talk:

"Saw the Henrick kids today,
Walking home from school.
Rag tag bunch, the lot of 'em."

"*****, all of 'em. Crying shame."

"Del came home and asked why
the oldest girl has scabs all up her arm."

"I guess her old man is up to his
drunken tricks again. Looked like
cigarette burns, you ask me."

"What will ever come of that?"

"I don't know, Mother.
Please pass those spuds around again.
Your gravy is excellent tonight."

I kept my head down,
thinking about what I'd heard.

My relatives have left for other places
And I admit, for half an hour, or more
I enjoyed the noise and happy faces,
But sighed relief after shutting up my door.
My wife loves Christmas, wishes it would stay;
She says, "Christmas comes but once each year!"
(Pick up the gifts and things and go on your way.)
We'll see ourselves into the coming year;
The turkey and the ham leftovers lie,
For midnight snacking when the worlds' asleep.
I have sheltered one last blueberry pie,
And ice cream on its crusted top to heap.
Christmas comes but once a year, 'tis true,
But I would rather be alone at home with you.

When his enemy had slipped beyond his reach,
His tortures felt no more, he howled in rage,
Flailed at the skies, venom spewed and screeched,
Turned hateful eyes upon each fool and sage.

Cursed monster never sated, powerless and dissipated,
Scarred conscience and consciousness, in constant duress,
All else, his losses stop him not for he is never sated.
And though he promises more, still he delivers less.

His lying is incessant. His lying is incessant. Incessant.

She lies angled toward the light,
Face upturned, eyes shut tight
As though somehow she must awake,
Though a brain scan says she never may.
We stop along our daily paths to pray;
Our seldom visits more for our sake
Than hers, as she is going away...
She is going away, and we must stay.