Cemetery Road
by Mary Wehner



Black horse, red barn,
fields pocked and steaming.

One white house then another, dull
as winter’s stained sky.

Here is a short road of declarations.
Look out the window as you drive by.

In every plot there’s a sink hole in which
secrets like manure lay decomposing.

Slow down as you pass by,
the horse is shaking dew off its mane.

Remember to bow your head.
There is a long history of animals watching.









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