Under the Farm

by David C. Kopaska-Merkel

Brody left Lubbock under a cloud,

(when the weeds tumble through the living room, it is time to go.)

stars gleamed in the sky

clear up to the empty reaches

of infinity.

Sharon glared at him

from the yellowed plastic of the dashboard.

she mouthed Lady Macbeth's speeches

from the play her students would perform

the next month.

windmills brooded from the ridges

that march above the highway,

monitoring his progress

into darkness.

every stunted conifer

shuddered in a spousal wind.

windmills leaned implacably from their posts,

their shining blades grooving

the brittle asphalt.

Brody leaned on the pedal;

Sharon glowered from the sky;

the giant silver fans

whispered their ponderous warning:

the highway drove on ahead.

About the Author:

David C. Kopaska-Merkel recently immigrated from a parallel universe that differs from this one only in the color of one doorknob in Austin. His experiences as a stranger in this land afford many opportunities for creating genre poetry. Mr. Kopaska-Merkel lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama with a motley collection of humans and others. He has been in Texas several times and currently has four relatives living there.

Home Current Past DISCUSS Guidelines Staff Contact Links