Cows doze along one side of the barb-wire,
tombstones on the other,
a few ragged leaves and a cigarette wrapper
scurry across the highway,
a skittish breeze is playing
a child’s game in the corn-rows
while rattling all the skeletal trees
out behind the house like a forest of spears.
It’s true, out here on the prairie,
night comes down before
you even know it.