Pedro, Pablo and Little José
I have spent an hour
lying in the sun
on Joe Brickle’s farm
waiting for Pedro and Pablo
to fetch Little José
with his sickle and scythe
to cut down the high grass
so Pedro and Pablo
can gun their mowers
over the cowlicks.
After Joe Brickle died
the grass on his farm
soared to the sky.
His goats ate it all
till his son flew home
and trucked all the goats
to the slaughterhouse.
At Sadie’s Cafe in town
old friends of Joe declare
goats bring a good dollar.
I have not wasted my time
lying in the sun today.
I’ve been watching
two doves on the ground
walking in circles
waiting for a sparrow
to land and dance on
the rungs of the feeder
Joe Brickle hung
in his Dogwood.
The doves need the seed
the sparrow will scatter.
Joe Brickle named goats
after prophets in the Bible.
He might be happy to know
that I’ve named the doves
Pedro and Pablo
and the sparrow
now landing
is Little José.
Two Honorable Mentions, EOL Poetry Contest 2011-2012