Sectional (I)

A blue sectional sits curving,

feeling like twilight, smelling of dusty cattle.

Exhausted from hard work in wheat fields,

It watches the cluckers run around

the giant dirty cottonwood, whose roots

are crushed by Olds and Ford.

Its velvet, crushed too,

and smoothed and stained by

grease and coffee, still comforts.

Cushioning the blow and bluster of fall,

blights and bad harvest years.

Some days sooty from the woodburner,

and heavy-laden, its arm breaks.

A bit greyer, it soldiers on.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: