This bronze ring punctures the flesh of your nose, the wound is fresh and you nuzzle the itch against a fence post. Your testicles are fat and heavy and sway when you shake off flies; the chickens scratch about your feet but you do not notice them. Through lunch I pitied you from the kitchen window -- the heat, pained fluid of August -- but when I came with cold water and feed, you bellowed and heaved against the slats wanting to murder me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAY IS DONE by PHOEBE CARY PARTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ANOTHER GRACE FOR A CHILD by ROBERT HERRICK AT THE WEDDING MARCH by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 63 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE BABIE by JEREMIAH EAMES RANKIN |