The Indentured

In wooded places, mildly more wild,
indentured men drink beer in the warmth

of the pine trees. The forest's dinge owns them.
Pitch glues their hands and knots their hair.

The river is a heron's swoop in the corner
of an eye. Roots trap the bank. A musquash

drags a leafy twig in its mouth. Hold on.
Three needles: red pine. Five needles: white.

Days with little in them but scarred limbs.
Blue jay a sermon. Worms make proper peat.

Tiny yellow pebbles are sometimes seeds.

Copyright © 2006 David Roderick All rights reserved
from Blue Colonial
The American Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission