American Pastoral
       

Autumn. House-of-no-need. Death
at the door, and you drowsing

in the sun. O, rocking chair,
rocking chair, freckles,

cornstalk hair.
House-of-no-seed-corn-drying.

So many lacquered
afternoons, and now another.

Bees, bees, why bother
massing on the goldenrod?

Ah, America—in fine fettle
while the fields burn.

Tweet

Copyright © 2018 Sue D. Burton All rights reserved
from Box
Two Sylvias Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission