The Snake (put it in front of me)
With others I cropped,
wielding prospects like rakes.
Passed over, fresh hoed, each peach-
half a face, or a foot soldered off.
But when you had gone. I felt, myself,
wedged
in the fish-shop’s pink stucco.
A wan stick of meat. Just, gutted.
You were never the boy at work
fleshing his back for a shoe horn,
his mouth coming cupped.
You were always a whole.
And left my days bombed. The grout
of a construction site.
A crack-bed. A blasting of ground.
Scuff at dirt for long enough
and you will find what can’t be cleared.
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