Spectators Along the Interstate

A few miles outside Kalamazoo you and I wonder
how on earth the first spring storm

blew the roof off a barn,
sent it dragging-ass like a barge out to sea.

On the news the farmer stood sure
of its connection to God; it's representational, he said,

as if the roof had perched on a church steeple.
By morning its picture plastered everywhere

brought people believing the charcoal night
miracle, the roof in all its ridiculousness,

still erect, flown over the highway
in a perfectly flocked V. It is not hard to imagine

the spectators along the interstate,
the wet stuck smell of a wet corn field,

the roof, a big roof, a roof so sick of the years
of its body it had to let go, say yes to the wind,

yes to the water, yes to the earth that knows
the powerful and the beautiful have different names.

Copyright © 2007 Josh Rathkamp All rights reserved
from Passages North
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission