Pesticides
This year smells of linoleum white
walls and stagnant air sitting
at the back table a chartreuse cake
Red Hots “Happy Birthday
Jesus” Amen
no basement smell of leftover farm days
mingling with roast beef in tinfoil trays
bred like rabbits
we visited Leonard’s farm
last one left
I overheard stories
sale sign 1963
no cornfield hide and seek
or biting minks
and the oldest would cook and clean
when Bernice went crazy went
to the hospital for a ‘rest’
6 months later
new white house
where we’d go every Christmas afternoon
Our Father whom art in heaven, hallowed be thy name
Money spent on crack doctors and Pat Robertson
driving west I slide the green logo keychain in my pocket
Bob said “John Deere kills”
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