1.25.2010

Fieldlight

Was it only a puddleA puddle in the wheel-rut,In the gutter by the waysideThat fired back my lantern-light like a retortAnd my own quavering faceLike an accusation, “There goes a boy”“A useless, silly creature”Were they only wheel-rutsMimicking the furrowed shoulders of a bare-backed farmerWho stoops to clear the path of his plowUpon the spine of such a giant do I treadWith bloodied feet