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Poetry by Rod McQueary
Near Snowville
It feels like green, heavy oil.
I am twenty feet below the surface.
Floating up.
Faintly, I hear a voice
calling calling
my name.
I wake inside my parents' car.
Home. I'm home.
We are on our way to Ogden
to a horse show.
I was dreaming, but this is real.
I am home.
Really.
My mother says
"You were talking in your sleep."
I can still see
Her hands tremble.
In the dashlight,
Her peculiar expression.
I still wonder, these many years later,
What I said.
homeward
inside the proud bird
after the hot asphalt jet exhaust
blowing orders papers into
concertina
after the cheering had
subsided in the darkened cabin
everybody asleep
across from me one seat behind
a black sergeant wakes sobbing
for a dog.
best friend i ever had
i mumble some simple kindness
he looks at me just looks
rejects my hollow sympathy
i turn away ashamed
i never meant to intrude.
pretty soon i sneak a look
he stares
face hard
through the black window
at home movies he'll watch
a million times
in years to come
he has learned secrets about
himself
no one should ever know and
in this jet full of
camostrangers
in that weird world ahead
he knows
already
he knows
there is no one to tell
Our Parade
They bring us back
Parading
Right down
Main Street past the
Mini-Mart
Somebody built with
That good old fashioned
Helicopter Contract
Overflow.
On hands and knees
We snarl and bark
Like wolves
Hoping to be understood
By these nice folks
Debating whether we're
Worthy
To Reintroduce.
These Modern Times,
A Bloody Muzzle
Ain't so cool.
Not cool like those green camo-suits
Flatlanders, Highschoolers buy.
(But we got ours for free)
But all in all--
We're fine, these modern days.
We don't howl and we don't chase
Defenseless farmyard pets
Any stinken more.
We're all healed up
and fine
(except maybe for sore hands and knees)
From this goddamn
Main Street Blacktop.
But those poor bastards in the back--
Purposely, they're last, you know.
They smell like cigarettes and puke
They get hugs--from screw-top jugs.
Those poor buggers--don't wait to see
Those wolves.
They mighta gone too far, one time.
Defended America
just a tad too hard.
These Modern Times, they still can't
Quite
Forget
How Sweet It Feels
to disembowel
a sheep.
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