pheasant

corn fields envelope each side of the road
to
my destination, for miles and miles, and
they
go on for, what seem, to be a millennium
of
time; years of soiled land disguising
the
brutal history of blood and tears and bones
and
and
and we don’t talk about it because I don’t
know
the person I’m accompanying on to
this
destination, beyond the rolling hills; lakes
still
like the deer we pass along on the road on
the
way to our destination; pheasants playing
chicken
with
their
breakneck speed-legs built like miniature stems-as if
their
intention is to prevent us from our destination
until
their neck is broke as they overestimated
their
swiftness; there, they lie twitching, now
acutely
aware that the game of chicken isn’t
for
every fowl.

We’ve reached our destination
and
without a scratch, no regret;
only
an empty tank of gas
and a little blood to clean
off
the bumper.

Published by

jonathandeanrichie

Recently moved back to the States after living 16 months in Vietnam. I write to remove the thoughts trapped in the cobwebs of my psyche before the spider envelopes me whole.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s