seasons merchant brings the harvest

flesh ripened berries and firm apples

john deere’s wander fields

barns fill with crop,

barricades still out against winter

last flush of heat clinging on

birds on the cusp of migration

still hold a note in song,

and i face my execution

she had wanted me for years

now i was disposable,

unable to plow fields

and seed a decent crop

inverted hearts adorn the page,

and i find the porch

for sleeping some more,

i wish the merchant did not

expect so much,

being a simple man

i was now to be abandoned

she could make her heart autonomous

it had to turn inside

beneath her maiden outlines

no flesh expanded as she expected,

evicted to the car

its vinyl bench with no pillow

woke one morning and drove

leaving her and her field

to be sown by another

in spring

poetry, poem , fall

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Comments
  1. adamsmurphy says:

    You made me remember he year i was with grandpa at the wheat field…. Its just like some reminisce of mine! Good read!

  2. slpmartin says:

    The poem engendered a lot of memories…of falls long gone…some regretted.

  3. brian miller says:

    nice set up of the season…brr..sleeping in the car in autumn on vinyl seats could get quite cold….yep might want to leave those fields behind.

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