Hung from a pole by a single tack
found slightly waving itself over open fields
as if to fend or ward off
as if belonging to the plot
tore themselves from wind taking fingertips
spilling away hair
showing the buttons missing in flannel
there were no birds anywhere near
the useless mean slumped slightly waving
there are no birds left but for these
stuffed full of themselves
standing guards and yelling hey
the dead carcass won’t be left to the buzzards
the corn has all been harvested
and was as plighted by few pecks
without the puppets
without the possible misconstruing
the shins splintered apart at the patchwork
heavy falls and vacancies
heads toppled off
for the imaginary threats
predicaments and timing misconceptions
thought from far away it looked almost as if
it was a bit too sturdy
started jarring and pitching at us
starting to circle this
curiosity revnant dislodging
though just as hopeless
and not as gruesome
there could have just been hay rides
hot cider and those quilting shows
geese or wild flowers or proper flowers
barn hexes or even then a bit separate culture
those fields are filled with livestock here
the festivals were carnivals for wintertime
there was a scarecrow person rotting away
bloated and suffocated hanging from a single tack
the sky was gray and faulted
whose evidence forward
becomes real shadow
((attached to a pole in the air
no ones eating their dinner beneath the wailing
watching for the bones or flesh or whatever to have rotted
and become real somehow
a real show))
