Robert Lee Kendrick
Wind shakes Crowe road's one mailbox,
scatters three letters marked return to sender.
Morning sun, a nicotine stain.
November air solvent sharp.
The sky lengthens its pedal steel note.
From the woods, a blue howl echoes off key.
A fence post sleepwalks in place,
shaking its spent twelve pack head.
By a twisted pink headband, dented cans
lie together, dampen the grass.
Fresh silver spray paint streaks asphalt,
J Bo + Kell 4 Ever.
Two deer scour oak roots,
savor the late fallen fruit.
At the road's end, trash
smoke licks the thicket.
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