shovelbarrow

after William Carlos Williams

Been in many circles, so many so
I ended up discarding drafts much
like stained paper but on rails depends
because sometimes the answers upon
steel were final (if love was a language) a
white storm in winter Oregon with wet red
gloves stuck, yawping “get off the wheel!”
and when Haas hit the kid I built a barrow.

But rails don’t play! No dada. Rules can’t be glazed.
FRA was old friend when investors played with
lives and winter Oregon, yarding train in dangerous rain
slosh that bogs glasses into goggles, it was water
that pushed me off the big beast and laying beside
felt like laying next to a love and soon the
tower masters towered over me and fought white
collars who in the yard were nothing but a flock of chickens.

***

(Featured image from Pexels)