tagNon-Erotic PoetryNovember Still Life

November Still Life


The farmer was not well groomed.
His beard, however, was the color
Of morning sunlight sifting through it.

Coffee steam mugged up his nose
Arabica.    He leaned on summer's
Manure crusted stanchions

With nothing better to do
Than wave away spider mites
From placenta and Old Testament

Leather splayed to Genesis
Praise for his heifer calving,
But the beast was there alone.

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bygreenmountaineer© 5 comments/ 2079 views/ 0 favorites

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