A Pair of Blue Herons
The foreman at the knife factory
gave Zo Ann and me notice. We’re laid-off
until word from management. Zo Ann says it figures
just when we almost owned our car outright.
Tonight, high on home grape and long days
we perch on the railroad bridge above the Tamarack.
She’s never kept a secret
and shouts, Our car’s repossessed.
I think it’s the long haul that counts,
not a two week lay-off. She cuts me off.
There’s a pair of Herons
nesting out at Grass Lake.
The poachers’ll swarm.
Father’ll beat the bush until he bags one,
I say as my neck pricks.
We split the last swig of rot gut.
Suspended in the dark pitching cinders,
listening to rifle shots in the distance
we chant, Who loves me who loves me not,
and let the empty bottle fall.
I wish on a star
that they stood below,
could read our message,
understand our invisible code.
Zoe Ann says that they’re blindsighted,
afraid of their own shadows,
and of our thoughts.
We love them we hate them.
The moon’s a bullseye over the river
when somewhere in the back of my mind
I sight a rifle and nail the moon
as if it’s a stop sign on
the way out of town.