Poem-a-day, April 11: belly-scuttling

Hutch
—by way of what they say


From back when it was Nam time I tell you what.

Them days men boys gone dark groves rose like Vietnam bamboo.


Aftergrowth something awful.


Green have mercy souls here seen camouflage everlasting.


Nary a one of the brung-homes brung home whole.




Mongst tar-pines come upon this box-thing worked from scrapwood.


Puts me much myself in mind of a rabbit-crouch.


Is it more a meat-safe.

Set there hid bedded there looking all the world like a coffin.


Somebody cares to tend to it like a spring gets tendered clears the leaves!




Whosoever built it set wire window-screen down the sides.


Long about five foot or thereabouts close kin to a dog-crate.


A human would have to hunch.


Closes over heavy this hingey-type lid on it like a casket.


Swearing to Jesus wadn't it eye-of-pine laid down for the floor.




Remembering the Garner twins Carl and Charlie come home mute.


Cherry-bombs 4th of July them both belly-scuttling under the house.


Their crave of pent-places ditchpipes.


Mongst tar-pines come upon this box-thing worked from scrapwood.


From back when it was Nam time I tell you what.


***

Hello Friends,
Today's poem is by Atsuro Riley, who grew up in Charleston, South Carolina, and lives in Menlo Park, California. "Hutch" was printed in the December 2007 issue of Poetry magazine.
Best,
Ellen

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