- “One had to be versed in country things”
Like a spring storm, he was almost enoughto rattle the loose aluminum.When he swore he wouldn’t take it anymore,the uncaring door with the broken latchcame back with a slam.
Bull thistle he fell into shirtless and seethingaged quickly. The trees of the farm haunted him.Don’t get spectacular. Most ghosts are just thingsleft undone, like trees that were going to be clearedfor a few head of cattle;
the rest are things one shoots atwhile trying to shoo away the moonprying over the oaks in the heat of the day.He fired five rounds and sankinto the hollow threshold gawking back—
everything, desperately, moving. [End Page 131]
John Hart was raised in Kansas City, KS, and currently resides in Apopka, FL. His poems have been published in the Antioch Review, the Chattahoochee Review, Image, Michigan Quarterly Review, the Southern Review, Verse Daily, and Washington Square Review.