Hank’s Got a Dry Tongue

My father grows beans on the bean trees
which he lets me water Wednesdays when
I get back from choir practice where Rev.
Phillips gives me five bucks for spraying
steam up the robes of the singers whenever
things get particularly holy & the rest of
the time I got to work with ice keeping
my six-rotor-stand-alone-motor machine
from overheating so it don’t split & spin
until it spins & spits its own rotors out
itself through the ceiling & attic floor
through the roof & out the kitchen door
past father’s beans to my dog Hank's shed
see rotors are why my dog Hank's dead.