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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