Farm Life
It’s milking time
at the turkey farm.
All the animals
are safe in bed.
The grass grows loudly.
Rain falls overhead
but stops before reaching the ground.
The feed troughs are empty.
At the slaughterhouse
the knives have all been retired,
too dull to cut warm butter.
Farmer Al Falfa and Mrs. Falfa
are busy in bed
doing things that shall go unreported here.
Downstairs all the little Falfas
are giving each other bloody noses
and playing Doctor.
Not one of them is aware
that Lawyer Snavely
is meeting in his upstairs downtown office
with officials of Contra-Agraria
and the Bank of the Galaxy.
The Falfas’ mortgage
is on the table.
9/16/11
Latvian Sprats
A small round can of tiny fish
with a transparent plastic top.
Sprats, it said in large type
but I had to search for the country: Latvia.
The fish were soft and tasty
with crunchy tails.
They came from Latvia, which has a city,
Riga, and nothing else I know
so I closed my eyes and looked hard
and saw a small girl in dirty clothes
lying awake on a cot in a dark room
shivering with hunger.
Outside the room a wild boar
paced impatiently on a threadbare rug
its eyes green fire
its jaws steaming.
I opened my eyes and saw
the girl had the face of my children.
I was about to rush to her
but she whispered,
Do not come. If you were here
you would see so many in the streets
you would shrivel into ugly dust.
Stay home and buy more fish
so that my father can have work
and give me bread.
Buy cans and leave them on the street.
When someone takes one
follow her home and give her your money.
Then the image faded
and I could not remember
where I had bought the fish.
This is an audio recording of a reading I did in the Dialogues series at the 9W Diner in Saugerties on July 1, 2025. It includes material from my three books as well as newer, unpublished poems.
