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Poetry

Clocking a Harvester

By Tom Merrill

Clocking a Harvester by Tom Merril Clocking a harvester, from nut to underground larder and back, I found the course consistently run in thirty-five, forty seconds maximum— and I clocked his clockwork awhile; and seeing how hard he worked at building up his stockpile— at such a relentlessly steady pace— and since a rest seemed due, I slipped out and scattered a few by the hole to his home. When I looked, later on, they were gone. I had put out the peanuts to see if the jays or the squirrels would get to them first, but instead found a new mouth to feed— not at all to complain. Truth be told, sharing such stores I suppose is an old custom of mine, and recalls a time when all my best handfuls were aimed at arming another against the coming cold.


Poems by Tom Merrill have recently appeared in two novels as epigraphs.He is Poet in Residuum at The Hypertexts and Advisory Editor at Better Than Starbucks.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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