A farmhouse left bare.
Copper beech limbs braced with frost.
Rust wedged in the pump.
We push through thistle, crack burrs.
Graze the marker. Baby Boy.
My Johnny Doesn’t Remember
My Johnny doesn’t remember
strawberry preserves put up
for Christmas week pies
peach ice cream dashed
mellow and soft
when his tonsils had to go
or mint lemonade
pressed for hours
for a tenth birthday in June
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