Blue Yodel a Prairie

Frank Stanford

Whenever I think of the shadows
Two oranges cast on the piano
When the sun drives a horse mad in a dry spell
I think of Virginia Day
Hanging up sheets in her backyard
She has a pair of blue jeans and a brassiere on
Holding the prairie
With a clothes-pin in her lips
Her husband is putting a new coat of lacquer
On his canoe
He still wants to kill
Whoever it was stole his birddog
It's been a long time
Since I smelled new laundry
The days have gone into the ground
Like rainwater strangers wipe from their eyes
When they meet again
In these drinking places.

Ginny Stanford