Wistful Exurbia
far enough apart our farms
nothing for show flowers
incidental roadside lilies in June
our neighbors sold out for less
than you’d think their land
carved up for matchstick houses
one night I sliced the lid
off Ray’s cigar box
and made a scene
I fashioned tiny folk
out of husks and scraps
set them in a cornfield
with corn ears made of sesames
you’re gonna lose your only eyes
that’s all he had to say about that
then the mice got up in it
so the man at the hardware
cut me a pane of glass
to finish off the open side
for your diorama he said
is what I do
by the fire after chores
and supper and Ray asleep
while the wind rattles the doors
and a coyote carries on outside
where did we hide the chickens
what have we done with his sheep
Middle Night
this odyssey
started such a long time ago
when the dream threw me
off its bridge
and I woke
with a mouthful of river
Marilyn Johnson is the author of three nonfiction books including The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries.
