Page 5 - Contrast1982Springv25

The silo's gone.
Sold it to a guy
up the road.
Buckled and tied
it to a truck
like some crippled
animal about to be
hauled away and shot -
broken and humiliated.

But it's Thursday night.

Thursday night
and everyone's inside
with their instruments;
everyone with a rattled voice
and a half-tuned mandolin
or guitar or whatever;
everyone with loud, laughin'
animal lungs -

and me,
out on a warped-wood
broken-swing porch,
hearing the noise inside
and the emptiness outside;
and I'm glad for the sounds.

Bill Spence

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