Seeing the planets from Humphrey Hill
as we wind our way home from the western
fringe of this county - the short but treacherous
route into Allegany - these homes hidden,
really hiding from themselves,
hoping that because we can't see them,
they won't see themselves, with their treelined
fences and ditches like moats keeping out the curious.
In the fall, when wild turkeys
gather in the open fields
waiting to be shot,
I drive that road in the half dark,
turn up the music - Hank Williams -
that hillbilly modernist with his moon hiding
behind a cloud, the only private place
a glowing celestial body can find
to hang its head and cry.
blasted away,
shoved over,
following the path
weather removed
nature, normality,
flattening under an ominous sky
after the last door-
after the last door slammed
coming home to a promised life,
here on the luminous plains
(Previously published by Waco Wordfest, October 2021)
