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
velvetmedia 