Silo Solo by Joyce Sutphen

| 0 Comments | 0 TrackBacks



My father climbs into the silo.
He has come, rung by rung,
up the wooden trail that scales
that tall belly of cement.

It's winter, twenty below zero,
He can hear the wind overhead.
The silage beneath his boots
is so frozen it has no smell.

My father takes up a pick-ax
and chops away a layer of silage.
He works neatly, counter-clockwise
under a yellow light,

then lifts the chunks with a pitchfork
and throws them down the chute.
They break as they fall
and rattle far below.

His breath comes out in clouds,
his fingers begin to ache, but
he skims off another layer
where the frost is forming

and begins to sing, "You are my
sunshine, my only sunshine."



- Posted very late from my iPhone

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL: http://dvsjr.com/cgi-bin/mt/mt-tb.cgi/75

Leave a comment

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by dvsjr published on January 24, 2012 3:12 AM.

Me and Chas was the previous entry in this blog.

Parables. Part one. is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.