Hoofbeats in Dwindle
The hoggery is bubbling with cholera
on a day where the sun whitewashes slate
and the spigots blast concentrate on the
toes of bleached gum boots in early May.
These are our litters of Spot and York and
even a tad bit of Landrace before the Poland
Chinas were bred back against two-breed and
three-breed crossings that bore this hog estate.
Copper-colored crates and gypsum expanding
outside the farrowing house doors, may be all
that survives today, that and us; this tribe of dense
farmhands when in battle with a viral detractress.
Robbing graves is grisly and we won’t be
back to school but instead will enlist here to stay
in a ghettoed pasture where spirea, barberry and
mock orange are the wilted remains of our waters.