His Back Forty
Helen Wickes
How desperately he begged for weed,
that one Christmas I spent on the farm
in Kentucky, long-gone now, him as well,
he needed those seeds for grandmother
to germinate, to transplant to back acres
nourishing soybeansuntil the govenment
paid more to plow crops underground
than the world paid for people
to sell good beanswanted weed for ducks
that adored the stuff, for the fine, fat ducks
of autumn; he hoped theyd land, and gorge,
and be dreamily ready for his shotgun.
As for seedsno source! I, whats worse,
planned on being someone, getting somewhere,
was barely dazzled by the two of them,
so old, such schemers, still wanting everything.
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