Fire sparks beneath the house,
lightening strikes the steeple,
a trash can wavers in the wind.
Here he is, right on schedule
interrupting Mr. Peterson’s Jeopardy.
No head lights,
he takes an oversized garbage bag
out of the trunk and heaves it into the can.
It doesn’t fit so he thwacks and packs it in
with the south end of a hoe.
The sound of tin-can aluminum clangs
and bangs, waking the neighbors.
In the midst of the night’s pouring rain,
the graves dig themselves beyond the fence.
I don’t like to borrow people. I keep them.