Poetry Porch: Poetry


Yeah You
by Fred Marchant

it is a long walk down
                                     through the olive trees
past a burnt-out house

                                    the grass scorched
oil-stained & sparse
                                    past spent gas shells

over brass casings
                                     remnants of rounds
from a metal press back

                                     in the States let us say
from the Tennessee
                                     of the old Stevens jar

and someone who cannot
                                     wait on tables another
day and will for a living

                                     nail the laths and boxes
sign a lading sheet before
                                     going home for some

sleep while the work
                                     of her hands becomes
mere refuse on this road

                                     baled in wire barbs and
shaded soldier-eyes
                                     arms as stiff and straight

as the yeah you he says
                                     to each one at a time
hands up passing through

Copyright © 2016 by Fred Marchant.