Field Music
Wringing out the wind chimes, the night leaves
a hole for a spotlight, and my hands callous
over the goats’ singing. Somebody killed
my cat, not in the way Dad made the sheep
click. You know, I’ve got half a mind to halve
you, hot as a Salamander, foul as a skidsteer.
I ain’t chicken. I saw Cat Ballou, the horse
that fell through the ceiling. She was unbridled.
you, hot as a Salamander, foul as a skidsteer.
I ain’t chicken. I saw Cat Ballou, the horse
that fell through the ceiling. She was unbridled.
