Harvest Fair

Anthropomorphic gourds on the trencher.

Cold local pears.

Undeniable chill in the air.

Red sweetness in fists & clustered stars.

Over the tent, crescent moon.

Neo-hillbillies play.

In line for the bathroom, farm people check iPhones.

Overheard: “It’s just apple picking against the apocalypse.”

Slaughtered veal on the grill. Tender cow.

On the roast pig’s black nose, someone’s sunglasses.

Beyond fiddlers, the bonfire.

Boys toss on a scrap pallet.

Light flares on our faces.

Timeless, how a few couples slink off now—

to feel their new bodies in cornrows, in darkness.