JOHN DEERE GREEN

Nothing was really
Up there--on the ledge,
In the sky. Drums painted

Green, converted to trash
Receptacles in
The county park. I

Was turned sideways in
My mother’s womb. As
I am sometimes now,

Outside, the stars a
Second skin. The world
Is a jar with holes

Punctured in the lid.
I happened to be on
A Farmall tractor

Pulling a gang mower
When the chemical
Company blew up. I

Could feel the air bend
Behind me and it
Took my breath. I turned

In my seat and let
The wheel spin round. A
A small white truck was

Turning in the air and
Men wearing ties were
Running in its shadow.

They disappeared into
Cornfields the county
Planted. I heard none of this.