Saturday before supperthey take on spring in pickupsmake the rounds through mudjaunty the ruts of latticed country roadsmy father at the wheel of the green DodgeUncle Stanley passing whiskeydumped in gulps on fizzling cokeserious talk mists the windowsthe business of men solemnizing the drink
under uncle’s arm I clasp my own small whiskeymy unsure place in […]
At dawn we tread the frosty ground
in withered parkas, work clothes
of linear and tangle. It is a shock
when my father’s eyes meet mine
so blue, so different from the mettle
of his voice and tools. There lies
the triumph of his enigma, the sleight-
of-hand, where your eyes follow
the fox to the shrub and then
there is only the vast […]
it’s nice to see the horses down
in this place they call Palliser’s Triangle
where I stand still at a hundred and ten
watch the sky pull away from me
the road is iron flat and rolls like a tune
through land where nothing cooperates
or eventually disappears
an act of mercy some might say
the jesus trees are all a-sighing
arms outstretched in […]
