Pastoral

On the tracks you can die from two directions:
one, you're struck with the belt buckle

so you burn down the barn. Two, you're saving
your favorite horse from some buckle-faced son

with fists full of kerosene and wicks for lashes.
So you've got these unbeautiful burns

that make you terrible. So I burn
down the barn. I've destroyed your favorite

horse. You can hear the whistle, the barreling
of the planet named Caboose, second eldest

world, inheriting a horse leather belt.
Everyone's dead if you think on a track,

if you think that axe is short for axis
or that Mama is how children say matches.

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Copyright © 2011 Michael Glaviano All rights reserved
from Whiskey Island
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission