The Boy Who Shot Weathercocks

Frank Stanford

At first I did it with a shotgun,
But that blew out windows,
And went through chests
Full of dead peoples' clothes
In the attics.
It would wake people up
And I had to run through the woods
Swallowing cold weather
A fish hook at a time.
Now I do it from the windmill with a rifle.
I like it best in the spring
When the fields are smokmg
And the flies are thick.
I don't kill them, I just knock them off
The iron branches of the houses,
And they fly off, ahead of the bullet even,
Until they see the first cemetery,
Then they light, feed themselves
On the dark earthworms of shade,
Then they swoop over orchards, mess
On the lovers, then they are far away,
Such a distance a cripple like me
Can't imagine, man, then they are gone,
Laying their cold eggs all over the sky,
Rid of the wind.

Ginny Stanford