NaPoWriMo / NaPoREADMo — Day 24 — The Scarecrow

(with apologies to Wallace Stevens and his Snowman)




The Scarecrow

Mutely standing in a field of 
fallow stubble, bending on the loam,
one’s mind is a business of 

musing the morning sun to rise.
Bold mice scurry through holes in boots,
tickling would-be toes of would-be feet

and climbing through knees of overalls
that, overall have seen brighter days.
Sparrows puff from red flannel seams--    

brown-feathered breath calling to 		
starling hands that wish to rub pale straw
moths from hollow sockets that stare

the stars from the sky.  One has hopes of scaring
someone--anyone--and listens without ears to hear
all that is not there and the one thing that is.