Sparklers burning the barn down and it’s all smoky on my arm
We piggyback ten kids across the lawn to water the plants and rearrange attachments
We’ve never found a four-leaf clover so keep looking for slave toys near the graveyard
Bury your beard on the porch where first I found it
I admit I wanted you dead so I could mourn properly
There’s a mannequin on the neighbor’s roof and helicopters are mosquitoes
that will never save its life
Please bury me in the beehive it’s hot in here and I’m useless and used to it
The miscellaneous mash of moonshine with the reluctant
Bullfrogs burp the alphabet close by and these are the sacks of insects hatching
Plants and the kids that watch them place larva on the grindstone
Keep saving allowance for the carnival that comes in spring
The fire trees ring the crops and pitchforks stake out like-minded mountains
Bury your beard on the porch where first I found it
What slips through the screen door does not even touch the entrapment
by Julia Cohen, published in H_NGM_N #7
Robin Reagler 