Hank’s Got a Dry TongueSamuel Amadon
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.
Samuel Amadon Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2022, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|