LARRY HIRSHBERG

 

This July

1
Last year
August followed September the way the wind
might follow a convertible across Nevada.
All our corn surrendered - truncated
by dust and smoke, hollowed
by the constant sky.

2
There’s a single cornfield in my neighborhood.
Today, it grew tall as I shopped.
Stalks rustled. I purchased American food.
Corn dominated the foreground as I hurtled home.

3
This July
there has been no time or wind
to make the leaf edges ragged.
And the rain…
The rain has washed the scene gentle,
cleansed it for the giving.

4
In an imaginary biplane,
traversing clear sky over fat fields,
we sweat in heavy leathers.
August appears, distant neon on the horizon.