The air smells of wild grapes and skunk
but I don’t dare walk to the curb
to see if the devil has taken another one,
my heart is already broken so much
the weight of its bits and pieces
is pain now living in my bones —
so I ignore all of that
and stand barefoot in the damp grass
soothe the catbird worrying
with a tick tick tick of tongue
I learned from my grandfather
who loved birds enough to sing to them
but not much else, I don’t think
except maybe whiskey
— and guns —
the devil comes in all forms, doesn’t he?
angry men and scared men,
men with a throttle between their legs
so blind with power they don’t slow down
to spare the skunk, her mouthful of sweet grapes,
the joyous morning that could have been.
Photo & poem ©2024 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.
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