Sheds left out in the darkness. Abandoned granaries, cats merging into the night. There are hubcaps cooling in the dark yard. The stiff-haired son has slouched in And gone to bed. A low wind sweeps over the moony land. Overshoes stiffen in the entry. The calendar grows rigid on the wall. He dreams, and his body grows limber. He is fighting a many-armed woman; He is a struggler, he will not yield. He fights her in the crotch of a willow tree. He wakes up with jaws set. And a victory. Ill It is dawn. Cornpicking today. He leans over, hurtling His old Pontiac down the road. Somewhere the sullen chilled machine Is waiting, its empty gas cans around it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 2. SIBRANDUS SCHAFNABURGENSIS by ROBERT BROWNING EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE THRUSH'S NEST by JOHN CLARE SNOW IN THE SUBURBS by THOMAS HARDY VIRGILS GNAT: DEDICATORY SONNET by EDMUND SPENSER LEXINGTON; 1775 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE WOULD LOVE by THOMAS WYATT |