Self Portrait as a Flatbed Ford

I prefer the solace of this meadow,
Hidden within overgrown red-osier dogwoods
My bed still loaded with a few apple pallets
Red cab a faded shade and gone to rust
To any notion of reclamation, restoration
Only to be shown at some "vintage car" night.

This morning a mink left scat by my rear
Passenger side flat tire. Looks like it ate
A field mouse. They leave little hollow trails
In the snow and so larger critters find them.
Last week the fox, came out of its den to hunt
And landed a rabbit in the predawn.

I'm a night owl, I spend my blue-black listening
To the waves of my lake eating the bluffs
The way I am eaten by rust. The ruff edges
Of grass and saplings resist, insist on remaining,
The way a young child holds out against going to bed.
Afraid of the dark and death. But they fall
And are watched over by The Bear and Orion.

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