Duty

He slipped on the family farm
like a hand-me-down coat
as unwelcome as a sliver of glass
caught under the thumb nail
or the bite of curdled milk

father caught crazy
started talking with dogs he never had
all mother knew was the snap of a green bean
and the cool slice of gnarly squash

so who’s suppose to run the land anyway
three hundred acres of bile
curled up in the stomach

so every spring he drives seed into ground
then falls on his knees
pounds the earth
with open palm
shouts water from naked stones
and grinds sand
into fine powder
between his molars

-Stanley A. Baldwin-